


N018: Memories of Ancient And Recent History

by Rhion



Series: Memories of a Parallel Universe [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: A.U., Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Het, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 65,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion character studies of the pasts of Susan Pevensie and Caspian X(Pevensie) from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/450167/chapters/771601">Memories of a Parallel Universe</a> that show how they were before they met in 1949 at the veterans' hospital. In <i>Memories</i> they may have fumbling, difficulties, but these problems are rooted in their pasts - from Susan's fall, to Caspian's forceful drive to be worthy of the friendship and love of a woman who believed in him before anyone else.</p><p>Explorations of the methods Susan Pevensie used to cope once being banished from Narnia, from the times when she was her lowest, worst, and most vile, and how she fell from the exalted status of knowing herself fully rather than throwing herself away. How did Susan Pevensie get from one state to the other?</p><p>Before Caspian came to London, he still had his memories, and he lived a thousand years in Aslan's Country, and a full lifetime as a king in Narnia. How did he grow into that role, what formed him? </p><p>One falls, one seems to rise, but it's just their pasts really so that we know from whence they came.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not So Ancient History 1945/6-1943 Susan

**Author's Note:**

> Originally ages ago, when I was first writing _Memories_ had come up with an annoying upper class cad, and named him Keith Avery (former lover of Susan's) and while I now know that such a name wouldn't have been used in the gentry of the time period, it's just easier to keep Keith Avery instead of something horrifically bland like Thomas Smith. 
> 
> The first of the sections/chapters/interludes is Susan's. And it is not nice. It starts off with her at her worst, ugliest, and then the event(s) just before she got that bad. I'm working on regressing her sections for their pattern - because backwards, she winds up 'whole' and her most powerful self, so we see a reverse crawl rather than staggering, tumbling, shattering fall to who she was before the events in The Last Battle. _Memories_ takes place after  TLB with various flashbacks across history and eons. However, those flashbacks were nowhere near sufficient for me to carry the threads of the past that need to be looked at in a more connected area. Hence this 'companion'/'sub story' to the series. These could certainly be read fairly stand alone, but I advise reading _Memories_ first, as, otherwise, some of the reasoning, and subtext would be lost.
> 
> Also, during the time period described in UK, Susan is about 16-17, and culturally, back then, treatment of women/girls who were sexual (and in the empty!Su's case, comfortable with it, and damn well made demands - she wanted good sex *and* gifts, or at least some decent entertainment) which would make a teen aged Su one of the worst types of 'slut' for the period. Additionally, she comes from a middle class family, which means she'd be bringing a lot of shame. However, for whatever reason, the family realizes she has to just be let to go things at her own pace. When/if she's ready for help, they are there and love her, even if they're embarrassed/ashamed of her activities. She is highly promiscuous at her worst, but still fairly choosy, it's just that outsiders don't see how she weighs things. That all being said, Keith Avery is her boyfriend (that she wishes she could get rid of) but he's financially/socially controlling, and big on trying to keep her for himself/tame her. She doesn't like that much, but he remains a problem even five years later once he stumbled upon her at the veterans' hospital in chapter 4 or 5 of _Memories_.

_1944-1945, London, England. A city slowly awakening from its hunkered down sleep, where the sleepless bright things, desperate things, soldiers and more, began the year still having to hide in darkened cellars and basements for their fun, and as the city roused itself, it only slowly realized that the night could be lit up like the dawn in rainbow lights and loud music. Other than the initial, shocked celebration of course, it was still cautious and muted._

Susan went to her first party equipped with condoms, not because she planned or intended on wasting some time on a fumbling lout, but because it was better to be certain of things. Nothing happened anywhere, though several young men fell all over themselves, utterly stupid in their pathetic attempts to capture her attention. It felt good to have them bring her drink after drink, to try and impress her with their jokes, their dancing, their increasingly inebriated speech and chest puffing. To see these men - boys really, or at least as mature as a donkey’s rear end dressed up pretending to be a man - who thought so highly of themselves, their class, their families’ money or background, their prospects for university...to see them grovel and make blathering idiots over her, made Susan laugh. Oh, it was a sharp and brittle thing, like shattered mirror shards having a search light shined on them, but it was fulfilling. And it made the emptiness feel full, even for a scintillating second, and Susan found herself craving more of it. It all started in the early spring and the war was still ongoing.

The second party went the same, as did the third, and the fourth, until someone’s older brother came along, an actual veteran, one who had flown missions. Now _he_ hadn’t grovelled. Not exactly, and while the other, older girls threw themselves at him, Susan didn’t waste her time on that. She prowled around him, circling, as a shark would scenting blood in the water, and it was to him that she gave her lavender bright smile, and it was him who she allowed to give her a good deal more than just a few seconds of laughter. He got something out of it too - her virginity, but it hadn’t been all bad, even if she had to pretty much make him wear one of the ugly, black condoms she brought. His reticence made her even more glad she had insisted - there were worse things than catching a baby, and _that_ was horrid enough as is. More parties followed, youths pretending to be men, brainless girls pretending to be ladies or women, all of them wallowing in the gaiety of flowing alcohol, or the drugs that seemed to appear at only _the very best parties, sweetie, just try it, it’s fun!_ (Cocaine made her feel angry, she avoided it after a single night where she very nearly had allowed herself to get into a catfight of all stupid things, and over some pimple faced twenty year old student who no one in their remotely right mind would have found attractive. Maybe in a few years when he didn’t have tomato bright marks on his forehead and cheeks as though he were fourteen and just now hitting puberty. Let that wear off and he may not be so ugly, but it would be a good long wait. After that, booze and cannabis were all Susan would touch. She was there to be selfish, bright, and glitter - not to ruin her life.) 

It went like that, Susan choosing men who at least had some quality that made her think they could give her some kind of pleasure. Because pleasure was something that filled her _just a little longer_ than glass shard laughter, dancing, bright colours, and drink. Susan worked her way around, never settling for anything less than what she wanted, then again, she didn’t need to, and she took whatever she desired, sharing her time and her body, but nothing else. Not like there was anything _to_ share, so what did it matter?

Then came Keith Avery. 

Oh, Susan had forgotten all about him. It took her the better part of several hours, many glasses of wine, and even a few unladylike toss backs of whiskey, for her to place the sandy haired pest who had bothered her almost since his arrival at the party. The girls had said his name with giggles and sighs, mentioning the grey eyed young man at other parties she had gone to. This one was no different. Then she finally placed him, while her back was turned, she heard him do a bit of name calling and shoving with another man, and it all clicked. Susan had come close to sneering visibly, and instead hid it in her wineglass when she turned around. Keith Avery had been several years ahead of Peter, and for whatever reason, had wound up at the same school with Peter for his last year before doing a stint in the service instead of one of the ‘better’ schools meant for his own kind of boys (entitled, spoilt upper class, _rich_. Newer money, though, from coal mines as she recalled, and definitely not nobility. Thank goodness for such paltry favours.) Of course she spurned every single one of his advances, she may despise her siblings as silly children filled with unreal dreams, but they were still _her family_ , and Keith had offended her sensibilities even back then. It didn’t matter if he had improved - especially as it was clear he hadn’t.

After that, every party she went to, every luncheon, every dance, the little stain was there, putting on airs and trying to bully anyone who wouldn’t buy into his greatness, his bellicose bombastic announcements started at the very middle of summer of ‘45, while everyone was still trying to figure out how to live with the war being officially over. Susan just could _not_ be rid of him! He was persistent! That being said, he really did have good money, even if Susan hadn’t ever considered herself a whore, at least not as such, if a man couldn’t give her something she wanted to go with the pleasure, she either didn’t give him the time of day, or, if he was particularly good looking, attentive, and good in bed, then she would make an exception. But a man had only so many uses and Susan knew all of them. Keith’s only one, was the priceless (what with rationing and all that) gifts he showered upon her along with his juvenile praise and pleading. Eventually, sick of it, and _only_ because she figured that if she was to be rid of him, she would just have to bed him, Susan...took him. Oh, she knew how the score went. Everyone believed sex was something a woman submitted to, something a man did, and if the woman managed to enjoy it, well, that wasn’t necessary. Susan didn’t care for that one whit at all. If a man was going to touch her body, she was going to enjoy it - she wanted to be filled by something, chiefly, pleasure, and if a man couldn’t give it, she’d _take_ it and leave him wrung out and dry afterwards. What did she care about what men expected? If they wanted anything from her, they had best pay their dues...and promptly - Susan wasn’t a charity, she didn’t walk around taking donations for the Red Cross.

When she let the noisome little prick take her to whatever bedroom he chose (as she told him in no uncertain terms she refused to risk interruption from a closet or a bush or wherever else the simpleton may have thought to be an acceptable choice) Susan girded herself for boredom and doing all the work. His kisses earlier had been terrible, but Susan wouldn’t be tolerating that once they were alone and in private, if he learned anything, then may it serve the next girl he bedded, it didn’t affect Susan. So, when it came time to closed doors and thrown locks, Susan was using her slight form and weight to shove him into the nearest chair, straddling him, hands plunging into his hair, and gained herself a proper kiss. It took minutes of leaning in and kissing, then yanking his head back and pulling away when he got stupid and sloppy, but he finally got the hang of it. Really, he was in his twenties and had had plenty of partners as Susan had heard tell, and the incompetent had to be _taught_ almost from scratch? More minutes were spent sitting on a desk, one of her feet firmly on his groin in silent reward or threat, the other draped over his still clothed shoulder, her hands in his hair, ready to yank him back or push him forward depending on if she didn’t like what his tongue was doing, or if she did like it. And when she slid a condom on him, she rode him in the chair, her hands braced on the table, his own locked on her hips trying to yank her down when she didn’t will it. When she thought he was getting about ready to build fast to his own release before she had her fun, Susan used his awkwardness in the chair and her own leverage on the table, to haul herself off of him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed, denying him his orgasm. Once she even smacked him because she had been _close_ , and to be interrupted by his flailing was unacceptable. After all, Susan was doing him a _favour_ , giving him a _privilege_ , since she didn’t share her body with just anyone. Alright, so it was in hopes of making him go away and mind his own business, leaving her to her own, but still, it was the principle of the matter. Susan would not be used, she would do the using, the taking to fill herself up, no matter how briefly. Keith was finally made to understand, and a handful of condoms later, Susan left him drained and sprawled, empty and used up, on the bed, leaving him behind without a thought, discarding him like the tossed out and used rubbers.

If she had thought that would be the end of it, Susan had miscalculated. At first he hadn’t interfered in her spending time with any man she felt like. He tried to turn her attention with bountiful gifts, spoiling, praise, and whenever she did deign to bed him, performing with a truly surprising amount of dedication, all things considered. Susan let him, in spite of his dumb jokes, his overweening pride, the sex was decent so long as he remembered his place, reliable, and she always wound up with some other hard to procure item. She was quite enjoying the fist sized bottle of pure attar of roses and jasmine that he had gained somehow from some eastern European country towards Turkey, she couldn’t remember which he said, she just knew that things like that weren’t accessible even to nice middle class families, and probably wouldn’t be for a decade or more after the war. In the bedroom, she held all the power, outside, increasingly, Susan found the nuisance trying to undermine her position, chasing away former lovers, potential, and ones on the side, and even her few female compatriots. So, it was either out of his wallet or in the bed that she made him pay for that. Good god almighty did she loathe him, but Susan didn’t think she could be rid of him as she had done all she could within reason, or at least all she could do without burning bridges.

Fall through spring, Susan coped with Keith chasing her, then actually giving in, and then him daring to _curtail_ and limit her access to glittering bright fun times that actually could make the dull, grey, listless emptiness of herself and her world, feel full for a moment. His mother was going to spend summer in the northern part of England, with family, his father was off on business, and Keith made noises about the manor home in the countryside being prime for summer soirees. Susan had no interest in spending more time with Keith, and the very thought of being trapped out in the countryside with no ability to make excuses over family or some date with a friend, or anything else, had Susan ready to let loose a long list of curse words her family would be horrified (or at least further horrified) over her knowing. It also had her feeling sick, panicky, ready to make some unwise or risky decision. 

Her cool, blank look at him was fixated on his reflection in the mirror as her mind frantically raced around to find something more concrete than a ‘bugger off’ (which, the rare time she had said it drunkenly to him with a push at his shoulder or face, whichever was nearest, had only garnered laughter and his hands on her, urging her to come to his room/home/somewhere private. ‘Bog off’ didn’t work much either, he and anyone else who heard it thought it was ‘adorable’ that pretty Susan Pevensie had said something remotely uncouth.) She needed something solid, something that put him in his place preferably as well if she could think of it quickly enough. Susan needed ammunition that may build up under enough attacks, to drive him away, while not robbing her of her spot in the London nightlife that comprised Susan’s world.

And then she hit upon a gold mine, her lips canting to one side as she continued staring at him in the vanity’s mirror. (His pretty little, terraced brownstone home in London was almost the very same size as her cousins’ the Scrubbs, and quite fine. Keith, to entice her to at least remain until after breakfast somewhat frequently, had purchased a few pieces of feminine furniture for her. The vanity was some god awful Regency piece dug out of someone’s basement or attic, but it was a decent place to leave a bit of her extra makeup, and the padded hangers in the armoire held impossibly hard to find silk dresses Keith had had made for her. Really, it was sinful for her to even have them, they should be going to parachutes that either led to a soldier’s death or saved him from certain death... Then again, the war was over, still...silk was as close to impossible to obtain as moondust. But, if Keith wished to throw money that could have served soldiers he once served with, on gaudy, useless baubles on her, then that was his business.) 

Turning on the low backed vanity chair finally, her gaze skipping over his form, readying for work, his tie in need of fixing (out of aggravation she would likely see to it later, incompetent little sot, it was a wonder he could shave himself without cutting his throat. With a _safety_ razor. Incompetence could only be worked around so far before it resulted in bad ends. It would be nice if it happened sooner rather than later in his case.) “A manor home? In the _country_ , dear? Either it’s some cotters cottage with delusions and no amenities, or if it’s an actual manor, in the end there’s not any actual difference between the two tacky places. Why on earth would I want to go there?” Making a face, careful to not wrinkle herself up too much with the look of patient disgust, “Some draughty heap of brick that your family bought off of second rate nobility in the twenties when they found they couldn’t actually pay the bills anymore, so foisted off the ramshackle thing, since it was their second or third best anyway, onto starry eyed neauvoriche wanting to play _lord_? This is _London_ , Keith. _London_!” She gestured around, to take in the city that was a few streets down from the quiet quality neighbourhood that Keith’s home was positioned in. “Cinemas, plays, jazz clubs, nightlife, and shopping. These are the sort of things I expect and require out of my life, Keith. Not sitting about darning someone’s socks like an old lady, or taking _tea_ with a ditzy neighbour of yours, while a bunch of gits play cricket - badly, I may add. That’s not entertaining, that’s not bright, that’s boring, Keith. And I refuse to be bored, don’t waste my time.” 

“Oh it’s not so bad as that, Susan,” Keithe growled from his spot on the end of the bed, still glowering and fussing with his tie uselessly. “There’s parties aplenty at night. Riding, and Father’s Bentley is there for long tours of the countryside, and I could drive you there in the Aston Martin. If you find yourself bored, maybe you could convince me to teach you how to drive. Definitely how to ride, boots and pants would hug your figure quite nicely, afford me an excellent view.” Another growl, then he gave up, his pale grey eyes focusing on her, as he let loose a volley of his own in the guise of a chuckle and good humour, “Others may even be convinced you’re of more than modest class if we’re not careful. You look it, dress it, speak it, why shouldn’t we play you up a bit more and see who else you can fool? It’ll be a lark.” 

Susan wasn’t a social climber, contrary to what some said behind her back (and the daring said to her face, usually before she smiled and went about destroying their standing within the group, or at least humiliating them subtly enough that they either didn’t realize it, or were forced into a position where they couldn’t do nor say anything about it.) The upper class was even more tacky than what she prefered to be moving amongst, and it came with a whole slew of rules, expectations. All of which interested her about as much as falling into a trough filled with dung.

She sniffed in derision, “I’m not going to go off to some place where I’ll be bored, Keith. Not once have I been unclear in what I demand from anyone I spend time with. There are standards that I abide by,” a dark, cynical smile graced her features that turned her from a beautiful sixteen year old, to a caustic, merciless vixen who looked nineteen and in her prime, but had the worldly experience of a well traveled thirty-five year old woman who had refused to be tied down by worthless marriage and knew every dirty trick in the book, and a thousand that she had left out when writing it. “They’re not complex and they’re not particularly high, they should be simple enough for any man I choose to reach them and fulfill that end of things. If you’re not capable of living up to my standards, then I suppose I’ll see you next fall. Perhaps I’ll even make an evening for you, for old time’s sake. But don’t hold your breath, I’ve a life to experience, Keith, and I do plan on doing so. And I don’t give a damn whether you’re there or not.”

Really, Keith should have gone off to his stupid little manor home. (The offer of horses had been the only truly tempting thing he mentioned. Susan had had an inexplicable desire to be around, interact with, and experience the presence of equines - probably a holdover from daydreams of being a princess or something else equally featherheaded. As for learning to drive, did he really think Peter - aggravating and superior Peter, but at least _thorough_ Peter - hadn’t taught his little sister how to drive? He had said it was a way to protect her since he wouldn’t be going to any place she frequented. She could even do some fairly basic maintenance or fix minor issues, all taught by Peter in the futile hope she wouldn’t buy some silly excuse from a date about his vehicle not working. Susan hadn’t bothered to inform Peter that any male attempting that particular ruse on her, was instantly discarded as unwanted. If a date wished a chance to bed her, it wouldn’t be a chance granted due to noisy, grinding, forced stalls to pretend that the engine had gone off, Susan wanted it as honest as she gave it.) Drat the man, Keith didn’t take the bait she had put out for him to save face. Instead, he hemmed and hawed, cajoled, and even said he would invite some of her friends (he called them ‘their’ friends, including himself in the ownership and place in the group, but he didn’t belong) to bribe her. Susan had stood firm, even threw a bit of a tantrum, one that could only be ‘soothed’ by dinner out, a pretty pair of pearl earrings she was momentarily inclined to throw down a storm drain just to show him how worthless she found everything he did to be, and a movie, followed up by an astoundingly decent bottle of whiskey. (That was definitely one of Susan’s weaknesses when it came to drink, wine barely did anything for her she drank so much of it, but whiskey was harsh and masculine, smokey and deep, burning hot trails from her gullet to her belly, before spreading its heat elsewhere. If she drank it alone or in a bedroom with one other person - a person who she would frequently allow to lick it from her folds or her breasts - then who was around to say she was an unladylike lush? Then again, any girl who could down two or three bottles of wine with ease and still be cogent enough to decide if this or that man was going to fulfill her need, and then actually act on it, was probably, in the purest definition of the word, a complete lush already. Drinking whiskey wouldn’t make her any less or more of one.) But Susan wasn’t swayed, and Keith _stayed_ , making further noise about some business deal that would make it worth his while to remain rather than go off for the summer entertaining season in the country. A season which, if they had gone, would have been filled with fallen or actual nobility who pretended to like the aggravating philistine that would throw lavish parties to impress, footing the bill for the whole thing and the actual upper class from older families would enjoy it without having to worry over spending a single shilling. _Always count on the rich to find a good time and not have to lower themselves to actually supplying or paying for it. Bloody, useless leeches. When was the last time they actually **did** anything worthwhile? Should do away with the lot of them, drain on society and when they do throw parties, they’re positively awful anyway. One of these days, they’ll choke on their pretentiousness._

Well into summer, Susan had come across a dark haired, tall veteran. And my was he good looking. He had moved in a way that had Susan’s pulse pounding, and he had been queerly cordial at the little party she met him at, looking despicably handsome in his uniform. He had been born and raised in India, though he was of English blood, but his time in that far distant colony had imparted a sun warmed glow to him permanently, and his accent was all kinds of endearing compared to the almost unnoticeable ones of London. Being someone’s cousin, he had been ‘dragged along, kicking and screaming, protesting fatigue, places like this aren’t my style’ the gorgeous Alfred Hanebury had imparted with a rueful smile, before confiding, looking into her eyes, rather than down her daringly low neckline, that he had been afraid London would bore him, and that such parties would be even worse. Now, it wasn’t love, but it was certainly _desire_ , yet, when it came down to it...Alfred had turned her down, instead requesting a date. The man was mad, twenty-seven and quite single and quite mad, utterly daft, rakish and smiling as he informed her that a woman of good looks and good wit were hard to find in his world, and that he would rather enjoy the wonder and experience in full before going anywhere else along the line of inevitability that led to tangled limbs. 

Susan hadn’t known whether or not to be horrified that he was basically asking her to _date_ (though not actually steady, that would have been rather stupid and forward, a blind and dumb leap into the unknown before having any inkling of the other person.) If she was to be horrified, then it was insult to her desirability, or, the awareness that once he realized that she wasn’t just an infrequent visitor to parties, that once he knew that, he would deem her sullied goods. Conversely, if Susan was to be left unoffended and without horror, then maybe she should be thrilled that an attractive, well spoken, older man who clearly knew how to touch a woman (if the way his hand danced and slid over her fingers, hand, wrist, and forearm were any indicator, he could work miracles with those hands) would actually want a good deal more than just some fun with her. Privately she supposed she could admit that it was pleasant and flattering in a blend between smooth and earnest praise. Yes, a few of the more desperate lads, or ones who she had used to entertain herself with the most before their wiles wore thin, sometimes said such empty things, but they knew she didn’t believe them, just as she knew they weren’t to be believed in their little white lies that were told in hopes of raising her skirts. Alfred seemed a bit unconcerned, yet interested, intent as she found herself talking with him, actually talking, and listening, laughing, really laughing, as they both nursed a single drink, neither going for a refill, neither downing the lone drink each had held when they first met. His eyes were a hypnotic yellow-green-brown, his laugh was warm and deep, infectious, and his touch was pure addictive delight.

In those hours, she forgot Keith... Which meant the little sodder had to come and muck it all up. Susan had told him she wasn’t feeling well the day before, and had expected to have at least two nights free without him following her around like a duckling after its mother. Someone had ratted her out, or he had guessed and gone through the trouble of calling her circle of acquaintances to find where she may be. Why couldn’t he just get it through his skull she didn’t want him? Once Susan had even gone so far as to ignore him for several weeks, but that had caused a ruckus, as he had attempted to ingratiate himself _with her family_ , playing at being some nice gentleman caller of good standing, as he doggedly interrupted terribly boring evenings where she did her best to stay home and look happy to be there. That Susan had suffered that level of doldrum in an attempt to dissuade him of his pursuit, and after every vitriolic thing she had said and done, the _purposefully_ atrocious way she treated him and sucked him dry of anything of value he was handing over (only for him had Susan played the straight up whore, emptying his wallet in full view and counting the pounds when he had gotten off before her, yet another ploy to make her an acquisition he released and ceased his stalking), and he still came back for more. If Susan hadn’t watched his many repeated hours puffing himself up, talking up his wonderfulness and stature, Susan would suspect he had no pride if he let himself be treated and used _that_ badly. Too bad none of it worked.

A proprietary hand went around her waist, yanking her in firmly to him after having set down his tumbler filled with whiskey, and a fresh glass of wine for herself that until he had arrived, Susan hadn’t even thought to want another which was unlike her perhaps, but the libation hadn’t been needed when it was just she and Alfred. And Susan schooled her features, a flash of unremitting aggravation playing across her face - she could _feel_ it before she managed to shove it aside. Alfred clearly saw it, his brows drawing down tightly, and that couldn’t be good. _Oh hell._

“Ah, Susan, here you are, dear,” a smile on his face that was all teeth and made him look like a donkey, as somewhere along the line, someone had rearranged his bottom teeth to look like shutters hanging from a single hinge, while his uppers had always splayed a bit far out from beneath his lip. “Entertaining active duty soldiers, even though the war’s over, these days? Come on, your prospects are at least a little better than that, even if you would have to sink so low to find a man willing to _marry_ you. Why bother with all that when you can just have fun and be kept, old girl?”

Alfred began to speak, straightening from his leaning on crossed arms, “A woman’s prospects are always better than having to settle for being some twit’s plaything. Unless she’s playing with him herself, and that’s her choice, and has no bearing on her overall prospects or worthiness as partner, spouse, wife, or mother.”

That made Keith laugh, it was a shockingly annoying bray, usually reserved for when Keith was deep in his cups or had found something so amusing he couldn’t even make an attempt to modulate his volume. “You must be new here, sir. Susan Pevensie’s the most beautiful woman in all of London, but everything about her costs, you couldn’t even hope to afford her for a week, man, stop wasting your time. Besides, it’s not like a good looking honest type like you should get saddled with a girl who you couldn’t take to meet your family, so if you can’t take her home and you can’t keep her in whatever she wants, then it’s pretty much a useless wish on your part to stand around here, acting as though you could pay the fee.”

That tore it. 

Like titles and status, Susan wasn’t actually interested in love. Love didn’t do anything but disappoint - chief example being her family. They loved each other so flaming much that they couldn’t grow up and get lives, and tried to control her life instead of allowing her her freedom. Alfred had just managed to hold her attention in a different way than most men she had come across of late, which had been remarkably pleasant, as, in the last year and a half, she had tackled every single kind of entertainment she could find that wouldn’t leave her disowned or in jail. (Jail would have certainly led to being disowned, but that was semantics.) That, and Alfred didn’t have the air of a ‘nice boy’ that Keith was basically accusing him of. Alright, Alfred had an air of steady with a good dose or rake, but he quite clearly wasn’t anything near being _a nice boy_ , or even a nice man. No doubt someone like Alfred, or even a legitimately good and honest man (Edmund, if he wasn’t her brother, would have been a good example for what she would look for in a husband - if she ever found herself actually wanting to be so constrained and imprisoned) could ever love her, shoved icicles into Susan’s pride. Again, it wasn’t because she wanted or even thought of love, but really now, to say that she wasn’t worthy of being loved by a decent human being? 

Additionally, if Keith was going to imply she was a whore, she may as well be certain he had ugly egg on his own face too. Because what worthwhile man had to pay for it through the nose after all? If Keith had some kind of remotely worthwhile quality to him, he wouldn’t be clinging to a girl he had all but said in plain speech was nothing more than an overpriced whore masquerading as a girl looking for an actual good time. Susan may expect some kind of compensation beyond her own gained pleasure from her trysts, but what she expected was varied. That so many dumped expensive items on her was their fault. Alfred’s simple hours of conversation and his skillful touch would have been enough to make her gladly willing to stay in his bed until morning, or even late afternoon if he had extended the invitation. Good lord, she probably would have been willing to get up early and muscle through her usual headache to make him breakfast or shown him to a decent place that made something filling. Her price was sliding scale, and men just couldn’t seem to figure it out. However, any chance with Alfred was likely done away with now, so it meant all she had left was a chance at vengeance extracted from Keith for his boorish, overbearing, unwanted behaviour.

A cold smile spread over her face, bright, very bright, and for a moment she saw it reflected beautifully in Alfred’s very pretty eyes, before she saw it in Keith’s as she turned enough to look at him. “Honest men? Please, Keith, your naivete and assumptions are so quaint and adorable! Here I thought you were keen enough to have already figured me out after all this time. _Darling_ I know exactly what I want, and how to get it.” Running her self-manicured nail under his jaw then down to his tie, holding his gaze, laughing in false delight, visibly assessing him the way a farmer inspects a hog, “So a girl like me makes a few sacrifices to get what she wants. Sacrifices that wind up not being so bad after all and a good bit of _fun_.” Scoffing, “What honest man knows anything of fun, darling? Honest men make bad business decisions, unwise investments, and that’s why honest men are always penniless, incapable of showing a girl like me a good time.” Playfully Susan scraped the tip of Keith’s nose with a sharp nail lacquered the same shade of lavender as her lips, winking, “You make the best business decisions, Keith. That’s what I like about you, it makes you fun. If you turn honest though, I do fear I’ll just go find some other who can maintain my attention, because as soon as I’m bored...”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence, the few within hearing all knew. Let them judge her, they already had. But let them judge Keith just as badly. It really was a shame about Alfred though, dismissing him as an ‘honest’ man had probably saved him the embarrassment of actually pursuing her only to find that she was fickle and had a short attention span. That was a sadly burnt bridge... Still, she wickedly called out Alfred’s name when she came later on that night and laughed the whole time to Keith’s lunging thrusts as further inflicted insult on Keith for his very experience, while also vowing she was going to find some way to really and truly get out from Keith’s influence. _Nobody_ got away with humiliating her, no matter their class, their relation to her, and certainly not a little snot who sneered at Peter or Edmund when either of her brothers saw her to the door when Keith would pick her up. The only one with any right to belittle her family, for any reason, was herself, and she...well Susan didn’t really do it that often, only when they wanted to chatter at her about how ‘concerned’ they were - about her, her grades, her outings, her health, her mind, her _anything_. Or if they wanted to rehash a stupid childhood game, wasting their time on empty dreams. Those were the only times she went on any sort of attack, and really, it was just defensive tactics meant to make them leave her _alone_ to live her own life.

And so, it was after Mother and Father got a wee bit of an idea of just what their little girl had been up to, imparted by an anonymous phone call the morning after, that Susan only heard part of the conversation of, Susan was given the happy news that she would be going to America for a year. (Her ears must have been playing wild tricks on her, for the voice she sort of heard sounded an awful lot like Alfred’s. But she must just be falling prey to the same flights of mindless fancy her siblings sometimes suffered under.) On the trip, her father of all people, had been the one to ‘talk’ to her, mostly about how she was his daughter, he loved her, and that he would do anything to protect her from men who tried to take from her, command her, or own her. It was all disgustingly sweet and quaint, but, other than that one conversation where Father stated that some men of certain social classes were out of his reach to bring to justice, he could still keep her safe by removing her from ugly situations. Besides that, none of it was brought up again, and for whatever quite maddening reason, her parents appeared blind to her multitude of escapades aboard ship, and upon landing in America, her gusto in seeking out new experiences. Well, it was her life, and Susan wasn’t going to waste the gift of them ignoring what she chose to do with it, carrying through the end of ‘45 and well into ‘46, she was free within the Land of the Free. And when she finally went back to England, she had been freed of Keith. That was all that mattered.

XXX

_Late summer, 1943, London, UK. The war rages, it seems completely endless, even with the long flowing river of American supplies and men moving through, adding the enormous weight and might of a country, a population, a people, who lived amidst mind boggling bounty even in the worst of times. After the initial thankfulness and relief that America had been a dragon kicked and startled and prodded repeatedly to fully awakening had finally turned itself in the direction of besieged Europe, the war still seemed as though it would be ongoing, never stopping, a juggernaut that would have to wear itself out until nothing was left but ruin on all sides... Except for in the Americas, whose soil had only once been so foolishly attacked in this war for supremacy, annihilation or assimilation. It seemed by that point, that the whole world had gone mad and there wouldn’t ever be a mote of hope to be found anywhere ever again, for anyone._

Susan had known when Caspian had turned that look upon her at the How, before she had taken him to her bed and handed over not the planned for Queen Susan the Gentle and Archer Queen, but as soon as he had laid himself bare to her gaze into his soul, while he looked at her just so, making his case for _her_ entire self to be shared as well... Susan had known life would never be the same, that if she were to have only limited time in Narnia again, limited chance and encounters with Caspian, that after she was made to leave, it would be _bad_. That the wound she would suffer would be a yoke and agony that ate at her the rest of her days, a wound that could be healed if not by returning to Narnia or Caspian, then by at least joining him in Aslan’s Country as all who loved the True King of Narnia were allowed to be with their truest loved ones, living something more than just an afterlife while basking in Aslan’s limitless Love. It had been worse, it had been agony, but again, Susan had _known_ it would be, but it was when she gave herself fully to Caspian, that there had still been a steadily shining glimmer of hope.

And then...Aslan, Aslan whom she had watched be slain in Edmund’s stead by Jadis, Aslan whom she had stayed beside to witness His Resurrection, felt the untouchable, unspeakable for it was so precious, replete joy, of His Love and Life and Acceptance... Aslan, He had looked at her with sad, lambent gold eyes...and repudiated her. Banished her from Narnia, never to see the forests again, to never have any truck with it. Aslan, the Creator who Breathed and Sang Narnia into being, was no common Christian god, or really, any of the multitude of gods that had been worshiped down through the ages of Earth. Aslan was _real_ and solid, not a being to simply be believed in because some book said so. (A book that, if all of the things that had been left out of the versions that anyone could buy were to be considered remotely accurate, was basically nothing more than a collection of stories written either by ignorant goatherds easily impressed by sleight of hand, or dictated from stories told by those goatherds who were still just as easily impressed by sleight of hand...by scribes who were _also_ easily fooled, resulting in a nice circle of the gullible. Religious texts were utter drivel, as were the beliefs, backed up by nothing at all, fabricated to help control the populace and to instill morality beyond whatever was simple man’s law. Be good, or no afterlife where everything is positively delightful compared to your pathetic meager existence now, oh, and also, don’t try and fight the powers that be, because god or whomever has a plan and that involves you being a peon in this life - apparently that sort of threat worked well in religion. Susan couldn’t figure it, and no longer cared.) No, Aslan was solid and real, and Susan had loved Him with deep and abiding faith, even during her first encounter with Him, as confusing and improbable as He had seemed...Susan had still loved Him. It was even by His love that Susan had measured Caspian’s feelings so deep was her belief and faith in Him! Caspian had wanted to accept, know, and love _all_ of her, even the ugly and afeared parts, and even the not so important or obvious bits and pieces that didn’t really serve a function. Other than Caspian, only Aslan had ever given that kind of love and unremitting acceptance, and He had loved Susan Pevensie down to her tiniest spec, just as He loved all who resided in His Kingdom. (And yes, that even included the ignorant souls who basically worshiped evil, or at the very least, strife, pain, and conflict. Even those poor souls, Aslan had loved and cared for, no matter that they refused to look to Him. They may never gain Aslan’s Country, but that didn’t prevent Aslan from still loving them. It was just His Way.)

The only true god in all of existence that Susan could be certain of, one who was supposed to embody Love in all its senses with the Wild Love of the Free Heart being the most important bit that He represented... Had deemed her _unfit_. Unworthy. Somehow a failure or unclean or _something that just wasn’t enough_ to be part of His Realm in any fashion. And He had allowed pirates and brigands to come to His world! How was she less than _them_? Just...just how was Susan supposed to accept that? That she had to leave Caspian, who, even as Aslan repudiated her, Caspian had looked at her with that love and sorrow and most importantly _acceptance of her whole self_ , along with his confusion at her being banished (helpless, hopeless terror too, and she hadn’t been blind to how it had frozen him in place. Good thing, otherwise she had been certain he would have been grabbing her hand and following her forthwith when she finally made for the portal. And Narnia would once more be in turmoil, and short three kings and two queens, instead of just the outdated and extra bits of two and two.) How could some mortal, flawed young man grant her more love than _a god who was supposed to BE_ love? 

If Susan only had to face that one pain of loss, the one where she lived a life separate and full without Caspian, as he would do the same in Narnia, for he was a far better man than he would give himself credit for... If that had been the only nightmare of anguish, Susan would have somehow managed, she was certain of it. As certain of the colour of her eyes (the sky, Caspian had said in a voice filled with kindness, desire, and awe), as certain as she was of the feel of a messy pallet of piled up cloaks and other things that Caspian had accumulated during months of war (which, the very first night at the How, he had insisted on sharing out with Susan and Lucy, keeping only his terribly battered and holed cloak for comfort and warmth), as absolutely certain she had memorized the taste of his skin, the texture of it, the smell of it - Susan had known without any doubt anywhere inside herself, that hard and cruel as the separation would have been... They _both_ would have persevered, they _both_ would have found some happiness in the many years dividing them. 

Yet the loss, the desolation of full banishment, and worse, total abjuration, denial of her and all she had done, all she had loved, all she had given with a light heart... No. Susan fashioned a lie, a terrible lie, but it was the only defense she had against the yawning chasm that sought to end her. Never in Susan’s life - not the first fourteen years in Finchley, not the seventeen years as a queen, nor the almost year combatting the Telmarines to win freedom for her people and give strength and guidance to the man who would unify them all - not in all that experience, all that time, had Susan ever felt so utterly close to giving up completely. Never once in all those years had she made a ‘game’ of figuring out which ways she could end her breathing with the least amount of trauma to her loved ones. What was there left to live for? No, really, what was left? Her siblings? They would understand, they loved her, and they were strong, they would survive even if it hurt as they had one another to help them get through. But Susan...Susan was worse than dead, worse than undead, she was some sort of...walking corpse that hadn’t the good sense to lay down in its grave and rot away like it should. In spite of the pain, somehow, Susan still kept taking another breath, some frantic part of her terrified of the vow Caspian had whispered to her in the dark may actually be real and true. For there was more in Narnia than just the almost complete omnipotence of Aslan - there was a force that _nothing_ could counter in any creation, not even Aslan could predict it, could harness it. The Deep Magic, and it was something Susan had far more experience with than her siblings, for her bow, her arrows, her quiver, and most especially, her horn, had been crafted straight from the Deep Magic no matter the materials original source, and almost eighteen years total having contact with those items, means she could _feel_ its presence and vibration, and sometimes, in Narnia, she had even been able to sense places it had affected or was currently pooled in. That Deep Magic was unpredictable, and with how much Caspian had touched her horn, he may very well have picked up enough to catch its attention and call it forth enough to bind that little vow. Especially in the Stone Table Room, his being attuned, and in that place? No, the risks were far, far too great.

Even laying abed in agony, most of her mind plotting just how she would have to dive from the roof of the house (and also how to get up to the very peak itself just so) so that her neck and body would be broken beyond any hope of salvation - even then... Susan could still hear his voice. It sent shivers down her spine, the phantasm of his lips brushing the shell of her ear, ‘my breath only comes because of yours, if you fall to anything, I will cease completely, without fail - do not fall Susan, not to arrow, blade, illness, or anything else save for time’s march, for my entire life is dependant upon yours, my heart only pumps after yours, filling the space between, given permission to continue. If you stop, then I stop, and that is the only way it should ever be or will ever be.’ It hadn’t been a threat, at the moment he had been saying it, Susan had been almost drowsing, and thought it a strange sort of prose, one that, in the right setting, would have been romantic. Instead, in the dark of the How, in the unlit room of the Stone Table, because for once, it had been empty, and every other place they had sought out had been full, those words had carried a weight and gravity that was undeniable. And if they were true, the risk to Caspian, and by extension, the very people Susan still loved, the Narnians, no matter how much agony and self-loathing she bore, Susan couldn’t risk her whole people, even if she had been foolish enough to risk Caspian. Which she wasn’t, the Narnians were an afterthought, sad as that fact was. So she breathed through the miasma of pain, wandered in a daze through her chores or school, unable to think beyond forcing another breath, praying for another heartbeat, even as she longed for the silence and permanence of death. (‘Ending’ sounded like purest surcease if she could gain no other succor, but she couldn’t be certain the Deep Magic had ignored his unhesitating, unromantic, unshakeable vow at a site where the Deep Magic had resurrected Aslan, because even thirteen centuries later, Susan had still felt more than just shredded remnants and hints of that chaotic force in that room. And that was the only reason her world saw her walking, breathing, struggling for speech.)

So, Susan crafted a lie. Narnia wasn’t real. _Caspian_ wasn’t real, just an imaginary prince fabricated to serve the needs of a fifteen year old girl exploring the idea of what kind of man she hoped to find in life. Aslan wasn’t real. He was just a painting silly, childish Lucy repeated over and over again, wasting precious and rare paint to do so, all while making up the kinds of fantasies that led to impractical minds later in life. Susan had never been a queen, important, or of merit. She wasn’t a diplomat that possessed a grace and poise and even temper that her siblings combined couldn’t match. She wasn’t an archer who - at first due to magic, then due to faith and thousands of hours of practice - never missed her actual target. She wasn’t a woman who, upon being gifted beautiful gardens, had set herself to their care with gentle hands. She wasn’t a scholar. She wasn’t a woman who had brought fauns, centaurs, and even minotaurs and dwarves, Animals of all stripes, sizes, and demeanors, into the world, guiding them with a healer’s gentle hands from their mothers’ womb. Susan had never stood ready to defend her people, to stand between them and danger, to save them. She had never represented anything, because she was nothing important to anyone at all, ever. Susan Pevensie was a bookish, introverted fifteen year old girl who was a little odd, but was finally trying to work her way out of her shell. And in some ways, the worst lie of them all, uglier and more painful than even saying Aslan and Caspian weren’t real... 

_No one had ever known her, accepted her, **loved** her completely_ \- ever. Susan repeated these untruths to herself, lips moving, eyes closed, as a mantra before bed and before managing to force herself to greet another day. She may not have granted the breath to create sound and give voice to those hideous lies...but her lips still formed them. And when her siblings questioned her, repeatedly, over and over and over again, about her state, about why she thought she couldn’t go back to Narnia, if Aslan was testing her or them or had some _plan_... Susan would scoff, drawing on every shred of her pain, and directing it, forming and shaping it into an ugly sound that fended off her siblings’ clumsy, careless, strikes at her crippling disability. She would scoff, and repeat bits and pieces of those lies, aware she was severing ties to her siblings, but...they wanted her to talk, to believe, no matter that they didn’t seem to _understand_ what had been done to she and Peter. Oh, Peter hated not being High King, hated that he wouldn’t ever go back - but Peter had always loved ideas and his duty so much that he hadn’t any room in his heart for the kind of pain that really connecting and unifying and mingling with someone could cause. Peter had to love a large, grand thing, an idea, a single person couldn’t hold his love, echo it, and represent a larger, expansive love - give Peter duty, a job, a task and something to protect, and that was all the love he needed. Peter had lost one job and set of status, both of which he could replace with a bit of diligence. He, too, was banished, but he could easily make something to fill that vacancy, for one door closing was several windows opening for someone like Peter. Not so for Susan. So, their pestering, hounding, it only dug the claws in, awakened nerves, and sowed the poison deeper into Susan. It was a matter of pure survival (possibly Caspian’s, and because Narnia would be at war/divided/easily harmed if Caspian were lost, then there were also many Narnians, or even soldiers from other places, whose lives were on the line.) If Susan could just be completely certain it was only her life...

Once or twice, Susan came close to slipping, to ‘accidentally’ falling on the train tracks at the wrong moment. But every time she began to take those tiny little movements, Caspian’s voice would be in her ear, repeating his vow, and her spine would shiver in that remembered sleepy way... That was enough to pull her back no matter how she pleaded for the pain to stop.

And then it got worse.

How could it have gotten worse? How? Words that should have brought Susan _peace_ instead left her struggling on holding back sobs and wails of even deeper loss. Edmund, faithful, good, sweet Edmund, with the deep river of dark pain inside him that created cynicism, the brother who had gone to war for her himself, had rescued her and risked for her when he didn’t have to, when he shouldn’t have put himself in so much harm’s way too, and he did it for her, he did it for their family, and their siblings too. It was the only way he knew how to show just how much he loved them, lived for them, when back then, so far back, at first, it had simply been penance, his role as daring rescuer had taken on a life of its own as a method to show his love. Edmund, who Susan would find awake, staring and brooding into the night, assailed by his guilt, a guilt he could speak of to no one, not even Aslan, because he just couldn’t bring himself to burden another... Edmund, who she would have sit down with her, his head on her shoulder or in her lap, as she listened to the words he couldn’t say, but were hidden amongst his tearless, wracking sobs. If she showed how much he was torturing her, would her pain add to his unspeakable guilt? Or would he believe it an opening, something to dive into and take advantage of, force her to ‘believe’ what she already _did_ believe, but denied for the sake of some semblance of sanity? Clearly some of him bought Lucy and Peter’s hypothesis, or at least thought it held enough merit, that talking about her pain would allow her to let it go. Susan hadn’t ever made him share his pain with her, she had merely been there for him, loved him, accepted him, and granted him a safe place to release whatever he felt he had the strength to relinquish - but she never made him say a word or admit, examine or discuss what plagued him. Yet even Edmund was standing there, just as imperious Peter or needy, begging, too hopeful Lucy, would, and was stabbing her, ripping out the remains of her soul, her heart, her mind.

Edmund had waited until no one was home, probably having planned and plotted and turned his vast intellect to being certain that there was some point where the house would only hold her and him. And Susan had found herself touched when she had avoided such contact, Edmund had grabbed hold of her arms above the elbow, and forced her to sit down as he knelt on the floor, refusing her any chance of winning free. Susan knew, staring into his hazel blue eyes that sometimes seemed to turn brown they were so deep set and he always tilted his head just so to shadow them further, that he was going to kill her with what was going to come out of his mouth. What was coming was the death of Susan Pevensie, the slaughter of the Gentle Queen. And she was too weakened by carrying herself through the day to even put up a meager physical defense. She couldn’t even _squirm_ or flail at him. She was emptied of all strength, prisoner more cruelly and surely than even the binding Rabadash had wound around her had carried Edmund’s name and life as its ephemeral ropes. 

“Caspian went on a voyage to find Aslan. He told his people, our people, _your_ people Susan, made them truly believe in what he said his reason and mission was, that it was to hunt for some old lords that had been allies of his father,” Edmund began, giving the background, background _Susan didn’t want_. But she wanted to hear none of it, yet her voice wouldn’t work at all, nothing would, she just continued breathing, staring, not even allowed to plug her ears. “But what he had intended, worked towards really, and done everything he could think of to prepare Narnia for, was finding Aslan at World’s End and begging Him to let him come here. For you. Caspian slaved and sweated and made some bad decisions, but was mostly smart about the fact that he fully intended to discard all of what he had done to become king. Caspian figured out who to leave in charge and why, set up all kinds of checks and balances, so he could be fairly certain that Narnia would be safe after he abandoned it. He intended to give it all up for you, Susan. To tell Aslan that he was through being king, unless it was with you by his side, that he couldn’t survive a moment more and was no longer able to do his duty.” Susan was certain that Caspian hadn’t ever actually _said_ any of that, not so baldly, to Edmund (in the dark, tired and defenses down, yes, Susan would hazard that he’d reveal such thoughts to her, but Edmund wasn’t her obviously), it wasn’t his way. But her brother was firm, his cagey gaze reading her well enough that he may as well be inside her head, or she may as well have actually spoken no matter that she couldn’t, “He writes an overly detailed journal, Susan, and he let me see it as proof of how unfit he was to be king. It was to make his case, and its first entry began a few hours after we left him behind. Methodical, conscice, desperate, and a steady descent into madness that probably even his closest advisors was unaware of. He’s good, real good, at keeping it hidden, but if any of his people or future generations ever saw the contents of that journal, their opinion of Caspian’s stability, sanity, skill, and ability to rule, would be rendered down to complete and absolute no-confidence. They wouldn’t trust him to lead the way to a door two meters in front of him in a well lit room, it’s that bad.”

Susan’s heart cried out for Caspian’s pain, begging that it wasn’t so, that he would find a way to live someway, some how. Because Caspian wasn’t there with her, clearly his plan had failed. Or, more likely, because Caspian always underestimated his real quality, discounted the depths of his goodness, wisdom and love for others - Caspian had changed his mind when it came time to speak if he hadn’t changed it before that moment. Caspian was more than just a contradiction of a Telmarine saving Narnia, and Susan wouldn’t put it beyond Aslan (and if not Aslan, the Deep Magic that wove through all creation) to have _designed_ Caspian to be what he was: a messiah. A messenger and guide, bearer of good news and salvation that superseded his own needs in favour of being certain others’ were cared for first. If Caspian had been alive during the war with Jadis, he would have no doubt - terrified or not - offered himself as sacrifice to spare Edmund. In that little flicker of mad thought, Susan had to wonder if Aslan had realized just how much like Him Caspian could be. And also in that flicker of crazed thought, Caspian’s ability to love her fully no matter what she showed him, was like the love she had always felt from Aslan - _even when He was renouncing her_ Susan had felt Aslan’s Love. (And that was certainly not a healthy thing to dwell on, because how could something created of love, give love, all while knowingly destroy what it loved just because it didn’t measure up to some unknown level?) 

So, no, Caspian had no doubt sacrificed everything he cried out for, just for the sake of others, the man would give up breathing and manage to survive without air if it was necessary for their people. 

_That_ was his way, even if he couldn’t see it, acknowledge it, believe it. 

“I wish I could have brought it to you, so you had something of home and of him. By the Mane, he would have no doubt given anything to share that hope with you and the really sappy guff he wrote when he didn’t sound off his keester with grief.” Edmund shuddered, face dipping for a moment, “In a way, he did. He gave up his one shot, his one prayer, his one shred of what made him Caspian X of the Telmarines, a little thing that had made him truly human, he gave up his only selfishness to be certain you got his message. Because Aslan would have told him ‘no’, and he knew it, so he bartered away that last scrap to drive home how important what I’m saying is.” Susan wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come, and she continued to stare, deepening, mounting horror suffusing her head to toe. “He wanted you to know without a doubt how much he loves you, that everything he does as man and as king, is in honour of you and complete devotion to the path you walked as queen and as yourself. That he has done, and will continue to do, everything he possibly can to be the man you believed him to be. Four years had gone on, and so he, you know Su, he was still young, but not so young as some imbecile racing off because he thought he was in love, shouting bad poetry, and making promises... It was strange, last time we all saw him, I thought he looked a man, but on the _Dawn Treader_ , he was a lot more than that, no matter how he was like a pain maddened animal ready to chew off its limb for any hope of freedom. He promised he’d grow old, he’d do his duty, love the people that you loved, care for them as you would, that he’d wed and make an heir or two. Because it’s what was needed, and it’s what you would have wanted a good king to do. He even said he’d find more than just a little joy, even if it was hell to find it.” There was an uncomfortable shift, “In his journal, Caspian kind of...kind of said that he hadn’t any idea what sacrifice was until he watched you with us, until he thought back on what stories lasted through the ages about us, and compared them to the stories about you, and matched it up to what he watched. Said that...that sacrifice to build a home and all that stuff you always did for us, Su - that it was at the cost of the things you wanted out of life, to keep everything all good and sorted and safe for us while we went off and had fun, leaving you behind.” He made a face, “Made us sound pretty horrid, you know. But - I can’t say as he’s completely wrong, bad as that sounds. Real selfish of us to expect you to always be there, always ready to take care of us, solve some problem that we didn’t realize we’d mucked up so bad...and then never noticed that you had solved it for us, because you were just being you, doing what you do.”

That was a smaller pain, and one Susan could face, and tears boiled up and fell, slipping and scalding from her eyes as she was still continuously helpless to do anything but listen, sit, stare, and breathe.

“The bloody idiot’s martyred himself to duty, because that’s what you did, Susan, you did it for us, for Narnia, for Aslan, for love in that dumb gentle giving heart of yours, no matter how pragmatic your mind, that heart’s your downfall and you never, ever asked for anything, not even to be supported and accepted when you should have been able to expect that much from us. And even if you’d asked it of us, I doubt we would have really comprehended it! And he’s taken it into his head to follow in your footsteps so that at least you’re not alone on that path that we abandoned you to, so neither of you would be alone on it. And we never saw it, we never accepted it or you, we just _expected_ you to be alright and be there, never realizing you needed more and should have gotten it from us _before_ it ever got to be a problem in need of sorting!” For a brief moment, Edmund’s shame battered at her and it quickly turned to anger directed at himself. “And then you had to go and bloody well fall in love with some crazy man who one day was still some dumb, bookish boy with no idea what to do with himself, who somehow transformed after blowing your bloody horn and then getting advice from you turns him into some kind of man giving his all to be a king! It’s too farfetched for words, but it happened, Su. I saw it, even though I didn’t really care to, because all I could see was how dark he looked, and that was kind of like Rabadash, and I thought you’d taken leave of your senses going for some darkie again like that. Was so certain I’d have to wallop him and - and pry him off of you in the midst of trying to force his way under your skirts. But no, no you had to see him all the way through, straight on down to his most irritating imperfection, and love him anyway, maybe that’s because it’s what you do, but this was above and beyond, Su. And damn his eyes, he felt the same as you, _feels_ the same, whether he is dying right this second or croaked a few days ago, he feels the same as you. Whatever the hell you two see in one another that’s not just titles or bits and pieces of what we show the world, even to our _family_ , it’s not like anything else, except Aslan’s Love. You hear me? You hang on, you don’t give up, because you need him and he needs you, no matter what goes on and mucks everything up, someway, somehow -”

“There’s no such thing as the ability for love to conquer all, Ed,” Susan croaked. “Aslan’s Love hasn’t diminished the pain, or my love of Aslan who pretty much said I wasn’t worth any of it as He tore my soul asunder and banished me to hell, casting me down to Perdition. And He did it with His Love shining in His eyes.”

Edmund’s fingers would leave bruises. “If that way too pretty boy twit, who never had a really good thing in his life before to teach and show him love and all that stupid storybook family togetherness stuff until you, if he can hang on, then so can you. You’ve _got_ to, Su. You’ve just...you’ve just got to.”

Susan closed her eyes, her sigh like the wind over empty and cold moorland. “I can’t, I gave him everything, Edmund. There’s nothing left. I’m sorry, just...just please stop, you only make it worse for me to do what I have to keep doing until everything finally stops. Just...you can’t save everyone Edmund, it’s not a failure. It happens to every leader at some point, Ed. I’m a casualty you can’t prevent, because it’s over and done.” Her lips twisted as though she thought it could pretend to be a smile, “This time you can’t save me, I’m already dead and gone, Ed. Just...let me go.”

“That’s the thing, Su. We all failed and already did, even me,” Edmund hiccuped and she found herself pulled into a punishingly tight embrace. He whispered in her ear though, “And that’s the last thing, the thing that’s probably most important, that he never let you go, even as he begs you to find some kind of life that brings you the joy he’s unable to. He wants you to _live_ without duty the way he is, and he’ll hang onto you, Su. Deep inside, he’ll always hang on and never let go, no matter what happens. He said you’d know what that meant.”

And she did know, but it only brought fresh pain - how could Susan’s soul keep digging any deeper to drink of the abyss of her loss and wash through her more intensely than the drowning wave prior?

After Edmund left, Susan prayed. She prayed with a might and force that pleaded not for her sake, and not even for her siblings’ or even _Caspian’s_ \- but for the sake of any Narnians who may or may not be drawn into the consequences. (And _god_ no matter how far gone she was, Susan was quite aware of just how desperately conceited any of that sounded, but just like when she had almost stepped in front of the train, every time she railed at how selfish and self absorbed and crazy it sounded that her continued living ensured that others lived inside Narnia... She could hear Caspian, feel him, and each time the sensation passed, Susan was left a little more dead, but also a little more bitterly determined. But she did have one fear left - that one day that little whisper and feeling would instill nothing but ugly resentment and loathing of the man she let herself love and be loved by.) For the sake of a decent number of those who lived in Narnia, and because of just how much harm was sowed by His banishment and decree, that she begged, pleaded, prayed, for Aslan to grant her the only boon she would beg of him (she hadn’t even asked Him if she could stay, or take her back, or allow her to just die already or something, anything)... Make her forget her pain, take away the magic of Narnia, if she had to live in Hell, let her just live as one of Hell’s denizens, unconcerned and unaware of any other existence.

Such was her faith, a faith that in spite of the ugly wound it burned into her, that Aslan was able to answer through the thick walls and spaces between worlds. For the True King of Narnia, Son of the Emperor Beyond the Sea, had no power in Susan’s world. Yes, in certain situations He could open or close a door, draw something in, or eject something. But just as often it was the Deep Magic that opened the paths between worlds, and Deep Magic was the only magic of Narnia that was more powerful, primal, unpredictable, and wild than Aslan Himself. Yet, such was Susan’s faith, battered, bruised, and not really doing her any favours...Aslan was able to answer.

A voice threading through the halls of her mind, stirring up memories that, at the time, seemed inconsequential, and sat only at the back of her mind, almost forgotten they had been so mixed and absorbed by larger, louder memories. Lucy deciding that Caspian was ‘comfy’ looking, and taking a flying leap to land upon the prince who had been focusing on reading reports in a crabbed hand. That had resulted in lots of startled fighter’s reactions, bright laughter on Lucy’s part as she was juggled about, and frantic confusion in Caspian’s dark eyes as he waited for someone to punish him for making free with a queen’s person. (That memory itself was bright, but it had also been overshadowed by larger ones...and that memory itself had even overshadowed a noted observation when it had happened, chiefly a very sour twist of Peter’s lip that had left Susan in stitches at that time. Because in Peter’s experience, Lucy’s madcap exuberance and cuddles were supposed to be reserved for her big brother the High King...not ‘some poncy, accented bean pole with bad hair’ [one of Peter’s less flattering muttered remarks amongst many.] That Caspian was competition even for reliably devoted Lucy hadn’t sat well with Peter. Crown, country, people, duty, leadership - Caspian had quite accidentally sort of taken over all the things Peter had considered ‘his’ demesne.) Then came a memory of a sheepish chuckle when one of Caspian’s rough nails had accidentally gouged her in a most tender spot while trying to explore, just a tiny blip, a little lover’s accident that was bound to happen between any two people at some point. Just little nothing memories stacked up one after the other after the other, as the rumbling voice asked ‘even this? what of this, dear one? surely this small thing can remain, this bit of laughter, it is precious, dear heart, let this one stay’. But all of those beautiful memories were poison for Susan. More than just her own existence hinged on her being able to continue (again, with that thought came the husky voice in her ear, the repeated words, and the strange tingle, that after each experience, along with the fatigue and pain, left her increasingly certain that the Deep Magic really had heard Caspian and had decided to grant weight to his vow.) And so memory after memory was compiled, experienced, and Susan was granted the gift of living through those memories one last time, mostly filled with awe, joy, and relief, the torment inside her for once drowned out even by what would come, as she knew this was a death knell, a wake, a lifetime moving before her eyes.

By morning, having missed dinner, her door had been securely locked, and overhearing Edmund say she was in a mood when everyone had come home last night, and that she wasn’t feeling well from a migraine or other, every memory to do with Narnia had been bundled up. _Dear, sweet, Edmund, I truly wish I could be as strong as you begged me to be. But I can’t. I’m so, so sorry I won’t be there for any of you anymore, everything I am is going to be cut away, and your sister Susan won’t be here anymore. If any of us will understand what I’ve done, it’s you. Please, please forgive me and understand, and if they can understand too... To accept I did what had to be done._ At some point last night, she had heard Peter’s tread, the whisper of his back pressing to her locked door, then the telltale periodic grunts of his snores. Then Lucy’s little voice, being hissed to silence by Edmund. She couldn’t face them, speak to them, but she knew they were out there, holding vigil. If the pain wasn’t so terrible, Susan would have felt gratitude.

And then the rumble wended through the halls of her skull, **‘Gentle Susan, how My Heart longs to take your pain into Myself, this is a burden I never meant for you to bear, dearest, darling one. I’ve not the power to release you from this life where you are and severe what you and Caspian fashioned through faith, love and the Deep Magic...but if it were something I could do, it would have been done, just to spare you even a fraction of what has harmed you.’**

Croaking in the darkness of her room, muffled into her pillow, “Then why did You do what You knew would ensure that I could never find salvation or succor ever again?”

 **‘It...is not My Way to say what could have been, but you will forget, and this once to chance healing some of the terrible pain that came from this mistake you will be told what no other has ever been told before - what could have been.’** Susan could feel Him moving through her slowly, spreading Himself out, though she couldn’t see Him or hear Him with her ears. **’...Human hearts and minds make their own choices, free will is given to all sentient life, and it can be studied, watched, and many times people will act as they always have. But there are times when something subtle changes, and causes wide scale alterations to what had been concrete Fate the day before. Because of this, there’s only so much I can predict, dear one,’** a sigh was how it was imparted, weary, sad, His empathy and Love was all there, shared with her. **‘Upon seeing what you and he created, truly, I believed that everything that I had predicted that would come to pass, would change course just enough... That someone, yourself, your siblings, Caspian himself, or those who stood witness, would have spoken a demand that at least you stay for the sake of symbolically joining the Old and Golden Age with the New one that had just been born, squalling and bloody from its birth.’** Aslan’s words stirred fresh feelings of despair in Susan over the fact that _she could have stayed_ rather than ever leave, but that would all vanish soon. **‘In months and stolen moments, you and Caspian forged something that few are lucky to create in the course of years, and for a few, it’s something born that wasn’t simple need condensed and concentrated inside the high heat of a cauldron of strife. Such a seed born of that can be nurtured to become the seed of what grew between the both of you. That would be as it is for most who fall into accidental blendings - a seed that could grow, if planted and cared for. Rather, what is between you was no mere seed, it was the fastness of My oceans. It was the portals that leads to new worlds. It was the blanket of stars in any clear night sky. It was born and grew faster than Narnia when it was Sung into being over the course of hours. It is closer to the Deep Magic than anything I have yet to witness sprout from mortal hearts. Yet no one could call it a mating of souls, it is something that no name can truly define, but _it is not absolute_. It is both without measure, limitless, and finite, smaller than the love shared with those immediately around who are accepted into the open heart. And it is still there, thriving, even though one half of that thing has devoured its host. There...are moments even I fear that the light of a star cannot save the other half or grant enough light to offer enough hope to see it all through. For if both halves are vanquished...then two of My beloved dear ones will be lost forever, even beyond My reach, no matter that Caspian is firmly in My Gaze and where he is supposed to be easily reached. If he falls as well, then you both do, and all he has is himself, and the weak light of a curious star. Such a small star has that much to combat, it seems an insurmountable task.’**

Swallowing, “A star?”

 **‘A small star, half human born of a woman and a star at rest. The child of a star, she casts light so that he is not alone in his darkness, and it is a darkness he would struggle through no matter if there was never to be another chance at light, dear one. He would carry on until it devoured him, for this is the man he both was, and has become,’** and Susan caught a brief glimpse of Caspian, older, rougher, more fatigued and drained, worn out to the bone, as the pain fell away from his features, or at least lessened, as a hand glowing brightly stroked over his heart. Susan had a feeling that the light was literally trying to push itself into the dark reaches that comprised Caspian, and not to change, only to grant sight and company. It was...beautiful, and she wished she could feel jealousy but instead, only felt gratitude. Caspian would not suffer the way she was. **‘They will have many long years together, and only in the very beginning will he compare the two of you, as the loves within him that he bears for you both, are nothing alike, no matter how fulfilling their shared love is for him. For most of an eternity, that which he feels towards you is of friend and succor, a safe place to set down burdens he’d not allow any other to know of, to say the things he won’t even bequeath to Me. It will be a love that is overshadowed by wife and partner that his star becomes. With her assistance, he will manage to accomplish tasks that I would never have set him, because they are much too hard, but he will take them and succeed in spite of this. Likely he will achieve things that I cannot See clearly yet. He will become everything that Narnia has ever asked of him and a thousand times more, a solitary monarch who is protective of his queen and keeps her from the weight, with a little light to keep himself safe from his dark, will achieve greatness that can only be rivaled by what two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve could manage, combined.’**

Susan actually didn’t care so much about what Caspian would gain for Narnia, only that he wouldn’t be alone in his night, that he would love and be loved. She could be magnanimous and absent of jealousy, squashing the tiny flare of it at the fact that it was someone else there, but it was better that the star was, because Susan couldn’t be, wouldn’t ever be - it would all be gone soon, making the pain of being aware a little longer bearable. Besides, she had always known Caspian would be the greatest single monarch to ever carry the title and wear the burden of the kingdom’s needs. That anyone had any doubts was silly. She only felt ashamed that he felt that he must carry it on his own, for if she had managed even a tiny flare of selfishness before leaving, he wouldn’t have to hold it all on his own shoulders. Yet that greatness wasn’t what had drawn her to him, and it wasn’t what was really and truly important to Susan (even if she would take Caspian any way she could get him. Imperfect and wholly himself was her preference, but in the end, it didn’t really matter, Caspian was still Caspian, no matter what.)

 **‘By the time he comes home to My Country, you will see the many aspects of others that he admired, grafted to himself, taken on, and he will not be the man you knew,’** Aslan warned her, echoing her disjointed thoughts, as though it were important - it wasn’t, _she_ would never be allowed entry to His Country. **‘He will have had a lifetime as king, and a lifetime to learn and absorb bits and pieces, fragments he thinks of them as, to trade out as others would switch wooden puzzle pieces on a table. But he could not have grown in the manner, the depth, that he will eventually gain, if it were not for the deep roots of what is between you, digging and giving him space to grow so. When a thousand years have passed, the urgency of his heart will have faded, but your shared creation, will still be there, waiting to be shared anew and whole.’**

She sobbed then, just once. “There’s no hope, Aslan. You’ve banished me from You completely to this place, no matter that You still love me. Don’t plant false hope that isn’t going to matter, it will vanish, I can feel You tucking it all away and making ready to discard it all. There’s no hope, only ending and emptiness.”

A louder call, outside of her mind, just as everything began to slip away, fade to nothing but childhood daydreams, there came the cry of an injured lion, **_Where the Deep Magic finds love, there is always hope, dear one. If you can’t find it within yourself, you will be lost, you’re too far away from Me to keep your spark safe and well guarded, gentle one._**

“No hope,” Susan agreed solemnly, eyes closing as she counted heartbeats as each bit of Queen Susan the Gentle, almost two decades of experience faded, and with each whispering portion that dissolved, it was another heartbeat that was close to Queen Susan’s true demise.

 ** _...Somewhere, hope, dear one. Somewhere a kernel must exist, must remain, or you are forever lost to Me,_** and the mental fingers plucked and touched a few of the memories, leaving them foggy, indistinct, all in spite of what Susan had begged for, but they were allowed to remain in the Great Lion’s hope that it could at least act as a tiny seed when she had given up utterly without this small interference. But Aslan wasn’t a _tame_ lion, He was a wild Lion, and would do as He decided. And He was likely trying to protect her - she just wasn’t cognizant enough to be aware. **_Nothing happens the same way twice, dear one. Perhaps things will change and it may be you being guided to the light._**

But the tired girl in the bed, grunted, grouchily at the interruption and strange, imaginary voice, discounting it as anything but a figment of leftover dream as she wriggled deeper into her bed.


	2. History A World Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caspian - Covers his decision to court Esther (what I named Ramandau's Daughter five/six years ago before she got named in cannon) to the way their lives worked. Also, though he stops pining for Susan, and she's not in his every thought, she's still a large part of his life, she's his yardstick - has he matched her sacrifice? Has he lived up to the abilities of her and her siblings? So, even though she's gone, Susan is still a source for his moral compass, his guidance. Esther may light the path, but Susan made the path by this point basically. It goes through Rilian's birth, Esther's death, and then Rilian's (assumed) death and glosses the years between losing Rilian and his eventually showing up, so, yes, Caspian's death. And the man winds up a wee bit senile.
> 
> My inner Caspian thought process points out (rather reasonably) that a person can't carve up their psyche the way he did with his to shove and stuff and graft and thieve/appropriate traits that he felt would allow him to better live up to the standards he made for himself, and to maybe 'catch up' onto the path Susan walked without having a few bits of his brain going rather 'off'. Add the mental contortions, the repeated loss all across his life (like, as soon as he gets attached and begins to relax, well, fuck) aren't helped by the fact that as king, Caspian had done a lot of stupid stuff. Like leading from the front. Not a good idea if you're the general/main leader in a large, real battle. You'd want the high ground. Caspian basically sacrifices his freedom, psyche, his physical health, and the decade or so he believes Rilian's dead - well, then it means he's sacrificed everything, because all he's got left is duty and a kingdom. Pretty shitty, and yeah, that's all CS Lewis' fault. I swear, he never wanted _anyone to ever have a **chance**_ at actual happiness.

Each day that carried the _’Treader_ back towards his kingdom and away from the one and only chance he could have had at reuniting with Susan while they both lived, left Caspian leery of waking. But wake he did, putting himself to the same work as his sailors. He would plaster that stupid, joyful, caring, lively smile on his face, wear it until it had etched the lines so deep that nothing could remove it, no matter how little he felt like smiling. At least the last four years had resulted in a much broader and stranger education than the average monarch could generally claim for themselves, the smile was just one such minor lesson hardwon and added to the skills he could call upon. 

Just as each day brought him closer to the shackles of caring for a people that he was to lead both by deed **and** example, it also brought him closer to the island where Ramandu and his daughter resided. Yes, he had said he would bring the woman with him, find her some place where she wouldn’t be _lonely_. (Aslan knew he was aware how wearing loneliness was, it had been a state he was acquainted with almost his entire life.) Esther, it was the sort of name some matronly woman was saddled with, like an Aunt Esther who drank too much and bossed everyone around and everyone was relieved when she finally got so drunk one night she took a tumble off a parapet. Her name alone was grating enough that Caspian dreaded the stop at the island. Some men, men his own age, younger, older, **any** man, would point out that vile name or not, she was beautiful.

Except beauty hadn’t particularly moved Caspian - or his loins - since a few days after he was crowned king, which were days Susan had yet remained. Trumpkin not-so-subtly jibbed that much of Caspian’s problem was the fact that he hadn’t just taken the plunge and bedded enough women to scour Susan from his mind. Maybe it was even true. It wasn’t like he had ever been celibate before the Gentle Queen had breezed through his life, raised him up, then left him bereft... It was the ‘after’ part that was the problem. All he could do was shudder at the thought of all the Telmarine or foreign women that had been paraded before him, hailing from all walks of life and status, because the Council was clamouring for him to be wed, for him to produce an heir, or at the very least somehow supply the kingdom with a royal bastard. (And he daren’t think on the one enterprising Archenlander girl who had arrived with her blonde hair coloured with a walnut stain, otherwise he would go truly mad, as with her hair coloured so, she had been terrifyingly close to Susan in appearance. That night had been a very, very bad one, and he had almost broken down and taken her.) 

When the island was spied, and even when Caspian entered the boat to fetch the star’s daughter, he was still stuck with that problem. And inside his head, a voice that sounded like his own these days, but used to sound like the worst of Peter’s superior ‘so magnificent’ cadence, was droning about the fact that he had given his word that he would take a wife, make an heir, give up the one remaining prayer or hope an inexperienced, dream riddled twenty-two year old had clung to for years. Later that night, slipping to the deck from the confines of his cabin, he had seen Esther standing and looking at the starlit sky overhead...and she had been **glowing**. In a quite literal fashion, rather than an internal glow that Susan had shed. It was seeing that, that Caspian had his solution, whether he wanted it or not. A lighthouse beacon or a star, both could serve the same function to guide him and light the path his soul trod barefoot upon in spite of the broken glass, pottery and blades scattered all over it. It wasn’t the same light, it wasn’t the same guide, it was inhuman, and very little to do with ‘woman’, but it was better than nothing.

The thick rope of her blonde hair slithered to one side as she spied him and she inclined her head in greeting, as he walked towards her position, his shaking hands clasped behind his waist, “Your Majesty.”

“Lady Esther,” an echoing nod, but he didn’t particularly want to examine anything further for the moment. He had months to come to grips with what he had decided to do, to reteach himself the dance of man and woman learning one another. Caspian knew he would come to care for her, she was, afterall, a shining star in the black night he was trapped in, and it was impossible to not develop feelings for anything resembling hope if it was to be maintained and kept close. 

“The human heart is a curiosity to stars, my king,” Esther broke the quiet, her hands held with ladylike decorum before her skirts. “That I’m half human should grant me some insight, but I still find humans so very...alien.”

Twisting just enough to glance at her curiously, “Lady Esther, I must admit that I am not exactly certain what you mean.”

“It breaks, it mends, it grows and shrinks, it becomes empty or black, full or light - metaphors that describe a feeling or a thought, but a heart is just a muscle in a chest that flexes and squeezes to create pressure and send blood through the body itself,” she wasn’t looking at him, but she continued to shed that very soft glow. “And yet the human heart shows a capacity for so much, even after the worst blows, yet will sometimes cease to function all together after the smallest ailment. Stars, in mortal form, do have a muscle, just as any human, but we do not feel this...scope. What is it? What does it do? Many a star in the guise of man or woman have attempted to understand it, to experience what the human heart does. If any have succeeded, I know not, such knowledge is not allowed to me. Yet this doesn’t slake the curiosity of stars, even quiet, tiny ones like myself, who aren’t even strong enough to go to the heavens on our own.” It was a strange smile she cast his way, “I go to a new place where many hearts are, many minds, ones that encompass this very deep oddity, and maybe I’ll actually grasp some of it finally.”

He offered, “At the least, the exposure may make people somewhat less alien, I should hope.”

Esther looked through him as though she saw something there, head cocking as she studied him, “If it ‘tweren’t able to assist yourself, then I doubt it will do much for me. Yet, perchance it will, patience bids that I wait and see, in the end, there will still be much learned. Like how to live as an actual human, learn the customs, the manners, so that I don’t stand out. Standing out tends to limit study. And I do so very much want to know and understand.”

...

Caspian X, King of unified Narnia, Emperor of the Lone Islands, Caspian the Navigator, Lord of Cair Paravel, and a slew of other monikers that clunked and clattered like a knight prepared for a joust tumbling down several flights of stairs, was pacing back and forth pensively. No matter what he had changed and perfected in himself, this was a tendency he could not escape. It was a portion of his personality that none could affect nor touch, because no one he surrounded himself with, could ever know or understand just the depths of what had been driven into him from birth to his present. Perfection was the only way to ease the blows of lashes or switches, which were as nothing to the agony of ugly words - that had been a young boy’s, nay, a young prince’s life (as princes weren’t allowed to be so mundane as **boys** ). Now a man grown and more, a monarch, a hero so many declared and cried over, a vaunted leader who had to steer a nation, lead them not just with his mind and the sweat of his brow, but the day to day activities Narnians expected of a **Narnian** monarch, perfection was still demanded of him. Any failing to the multitude meant something worse than being kicked, cussed, and cuffed from one end of a room to another then sent to bed for a week without dinners, with the additional punishments of backbreaking labour thrown in so the lesson stuck. 

Now any failure could mean lives, or livelihoods. And his Council had been throwing that at him for all the years he had been king. 

Esther entered without knocking, her frequent disregard for custom excusing such trifling things as what was considered proper by many. Her entrance had Caspian’s face tugging in a grimace - he had been wanting to think alone, without the audience of the woman he was officially betrothed to. Not that she was unpleasant, he just...needed his own space sometimes. But the blonde star ignored what he believed were solid social cues even she could understand fully (like several guards at his door, which also happened to be **locked** \- speaking of which, just how had she gotten past the lock in the first place?)

“There is darkness in the castle today, my king,” Esther announced.

Halting midstep, one booted foot hovering just an inch above the blood red rug that had been sent by one of the minotaur clans upon his coronation, his hands clasped behind himself, and Caspian had tilted himself just enough to look at her with some irritation. “Then perhaps a candle, torch, or lamp should be lit? Surely someone can open a window for you if there is something like that bothering you, lady. All it takes is a bit of light to banish darkness.”

“As you say, my king, so it should be,” she agreed. And began to shed that whisper faint glow she almost never gave off as she approached him, “‘Tis a curious darkness that comes and goes, and I wonder if what little light I possess is enough to defeat it, even for a moment. What casts its shadow so far over you, my king?”

Sighing, Caspian raked a hand through his hair, before scrubbing at his beard, “The Council of Lords is displeased.”

“It was my understanding that they are always displeased,” frozen floes of navy blue, her eyes glittered strangely as she blinked at him curiously. “Is there ever a time when they do not wail like gulls?”

A surprised chuckle found him, “Not hardly. As much as they go on about me being king, they always seem to know how to rule better than I, and what my duties are in every little thing, yet cannot agree with one another unless it is against me.”

“Then like the birds’ squawks, ignore them,” she shrugged. “If you are king, then be king. Let them complain amongst themselves and squabble over whatever little crab’s corpse they wish to pick at, instead of allowing them to feast on you.”

Caspian felt like she was studying him as she continued to approach him until she stood within arm’s reach. Most of their interactions went like that, her studying him, listening, making statements, all while she watched him with that unwavering, unfathomable gaze. On the _Dawn Treader_ he had begun their courtship slowly, mostly seeking to spend time speaking with her, which she appeared to welcome, and it had gradually lessened some of his feelings of loneliness. But only some. When they had docked upon arrival to Narnia, he had carefully taken her hand to lead her through the crowds, guiding her nimbly through the parade and revelry, which she had taken in with measured looks this way and that. These days they spent at least some time alone every few days, be it a picnic, a ride (which was more for his enjoyment, as she sat the worst seat he had ever seen), a long walk, or the evening meal. He, increasingly, found himself looking forward to those breaks, where it was just a few hours together, with a person who listened and spoke with very little filtering barrier betwixt them. Still, it was difficult to forget that to her, he was a curiosity, an oddity, especially when her gaze skipped down to Susan’s horn which hung from its customary spot near his maine gauche, and there was no human emotion there in her expression at all, not any kind that was identifiable as such. 

Head cocked, gaze fixed on the horn a moment longer before skipping to his arms which were still tucked behind his back, “My king, your hands are always clenched or clasped, why is this? If it is not hilt, book, quill, stamp, or tool, your hands are locked about one another. What is it that you must keep them from?”

Taken aback by the query, Caspian’s brow beetled, and his hand reflexively felt for Susan’s horn, caressing it once before he realized what he was doing, and his hands diverted, thumb thrust through swordbelt, the other resting on pommel. Offering, “It is a bit of old childhood wisdom that idle hands usually lead to trouble.”

“Ah,” said as though she understood, but clearly she didn’t. Instead she looked at her own frequently still hands, raising them up, examining them, and suddenly they were pressed to his chest. “It is not because you have been emptied of touch? My observations are that you touch only the inanimate, or to tend to something expected of you, and naught a thing more.”

Having sucked in a sharp, startled breath, Caspian strained to step forwards or backwards, but could do neither as her soft light increased, pressing at his chest, and his voice dropped, husky with emotion, “Then pardon me as I clarify that it is my hands being idle leads **me** to trouble, my lady.”

It was why, prior to his voyage upon the _’Treader_ he had undertaken learning a cornucopia of skills. Why, he had even gone so far as to deliver a maidservant’s babe while enroute to a tourney! (That had been an emergency and rather awkward, yet he found keeping the poor woman laughing had helped ease her pain, and his own nerves. It had also resulted in an appreciation for what a woman must endure to bring new life to the world, when before, only foaling had interested in him.) Now he had a rather broad knowledge of the body medical and found it was a study that brought him satisfaction, to heal when his hands were often accustomed to killing in defense. And while rebuilding Cair Paravel, he had put himself to the laying of stones, shoulder to supporting wooden struts, and a thousand other laborious tasks. He had also set himself to the same work on the first day of planting as any farmer would, a symbolic gesture surely, but one done in good faith. What little free time he possessed saw him either in stables or in what, historically, had been Susan’s garden, tending the growing things as any common gardener would. Some may say such activities were beneath a king, but Caspian didn’t care, a man must have hobbies and full hands, ‘else he go mad. 

Firmly, “You will sit, and you will tell what the strangeness in you is born of.”

Lips twisting ruefully, “More study, lady?”

“Not as such, no,” Esther shook her head and Caspian felt her pushing him without subtlty to his nearest chair. “You are polite to the point it leaves you empty. Empty, you are then filled with the darkness you strive against. It’s a strange heart you carry, my king.” Caspian tensed, resisting her yet found his feet carrying him to the guest chair, each step backwards or to the side something he was helpless against as Esther’s glow intensified and he couldn’t look away. “I know why you chose me for your suit, why it was myself rather than another selected. If that’s the required trade for experiencing this very human life, then I give it.”

Eyes closing, he sank deep into the chair, hands strangling the armrests in a white knuckle grip that made the walnut creak under the force of his hold. “Aye, it is the truth of it.”

He grit his teeth on the yelp that wished to work free as Esther moved to stand behind him, her hands measuring the breadth of his shoulders. The motion was repeated in long circles down to his chest and back, until he finally began to relax. Soothing repetition for many long minutes, an unbidden sigh slipping free when smooth, uncalloused fingers moved to his neck stroking down along his throat, moving the high half collar of his doublet aside. Under Esther’s ministrations, Caspian found himself forgetting for several long minutes just why the Council had aggravated him this time. With a twitch he recalled it suddenly, and growled, triggered by the sensation of fingertips on his temples.

At least he was growling until a peculiar cooling emanated from the contact of Esther’s hands on him, washing through the irritation that dogged him. Eyes popping open, Caspian’s head tilted back to look at her in wonder, “How do you do that?”

“I may be half human, my king, but my father was proficient in all things a star may learn while observing the worlds,” a small smile played around her full crimson mouth. “We lived alone after my mother’s passing and there was plenty of time to learn what a star may teach his daughter. Perhaps after finding my way to the heavens, tiring, and becoming a star at rest I will be able to shine as bright and knowledgeable as he. For now, my small light and skill may help.”

Awed, Caspian took one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm, grateful, “Immensely. It helps immensely.” Settling back once more, “The Council has, yet again, called me out on my lack of responsibility. My lack of heirs leaves the country uncertain they say, accusing me of not putting forth sufficient effort to secure the kingdom’s continued future. With the grumbling...” He sighed again, relieved as Esther’s measured and slow touch continued, something without artifice, just a touch, nothing more, yet filled with that odd seeping sensation to it, as though it were trying to slowly push away the pressures inside his mind. “Archenland, Telmar - countries that should, for their own reasons and attachments be happy enough to ally themselves with us - are rattling their sabres again, feinting skirmishes along the borders. Narnia must look well in hand and a king who has turned aside every offer of marriage alliance, then does not even take one within his own countrymen, and is deemed a morose sort of boy, pinning over someone as good as dead...”

“All who are within His realm and live their lives with faith in Him, the good, the innocent, the loving - all come to His Country, my king,” Esther said while squeezing his shoulders briefly. “The King of All will call His children to Him when it is their time. Have faith, for death is never the end it seems. A star may be reborn, a soul lives once again - we’re all welcome when the time comes.”

Grunting, “My faith in Aslan may be deep, but time is harsh to humans, lady. It is not faith that I worry over.”

“Do you not believe in your companions? They seemed...capable,” Esther asked. 

“In their own fashions, yes,” he agreed. “But they are children. Once they were adults, yet each time they return to their round world of Spar Oom and War Drobe, with their stars made of burning gas, they retain only memories of this place. All else washes away, time’s hand and evidence disappears, and they are children once more or still. The maturity and some of the knowledge itself of being adult, seems to...vanish. Lucy clings to her belief and love so greatly, that she may not be able to act in the way necessary. Edmund is the only one I think could do something, and he is far from infallible. Peter would not mean to, but he would nag and bludgeon and be an absolute _ass_ as is his wont. He means well, and, if he were not in situations that left him struggling to reconcile what he once was, with what he is there...” 

He and Susan had lain together, in the dim areas of the How, talking. Mostly it had been about the Golden Age, Aslan, hopes and dreams, or his own life. She had been the one he confided in about his whippings and how they made him _feel_ , how small and disgustingly weak. His vague memories of his parents, the feeling of his mother’s fingers weaving through his hair as she sang to him, his head on her shoulder during fretful nights when he had taken a fever at one point... It was into Susan’s breast he had admitted his childhood fantasies of the Kings and Queens, the games of make believe playing hide and seek with Lucy, getting into trouble and sparring with Edmund, or being thrown in the air by Peter. A boy’s strong longing for family so powerful that he had become a silent, bookish shadow, avoiding being noticed by anyone he possibly could in favour of his fantasy realm. Susan hadn’t laughed or looked at him askance when he admitted, cautiously, that what little he had daydreamed in regards to herself was nothing like how she actually was - as he had really just made her up from what he recalled of his own mother. Instead, Susan had just smiled in a way that made his heart tremble, kissing him as a woman and as a giver, and said she was glad he had some comfort in those years. But when they weren’t talking about those things or tangling their bodies together desperately, Susan spoke about her siblings and their place in the world they hailed from. While Susan’s love and respect for them shone from every word, there was also thick exasperation over tendencies that made life hard. Caspian was certain that not all of what he knew of the Pevensies was accurate, as it was coloured by his historical studies, his experience of them inside Narnia, and what Susan had told him, but when it came to their ability to help Susan... He couldn’t be certain.

“I know I need to let it go and trust them, and what is more, trust her,” there his voice wavered, “but if she was affected in anything approaching the same manner as I was... It would be easy to see her losing her way entirely.” Seeking some hope, “But she has always been far stronger than others give her credit for, and here I have fallen to the same trap no doubt.”

Esther smelled strangely of peppery carnations and sharp orange rinds, her presence behind him coming closer for her skirts to swish against the back of his chair. One impossibly long, slim hand slipped from his head down to his chest, and Caspian felt the light of her touch moving through and causing the shakiness that had plagued him, to ease, just for a moment. Bolstered, Caspian sighed again, his fingers pressing to the back of her hand, and let himself drift. She wasn’t making him forget or not care, it was merely that she took hold of the shuddering inside him and cushioned the anxiety. Maybe it was a quality of her magic and light, but that didn’t make it any less wondrous. 

Confidently, her broad gash of a mouth, one that was perfectly sculpted, from just over his head, “You will see her again, my king. Humans have such strange hearts, ones that can be ever so full. There is a strength in that, Your Majesty. Your royal siblings will gird her and guard her, and even if they do not, even so far from everything, we had heard of the Archer Queen who could not be vanquished. Her Majesty will persevere.” 

....

Another miscarriage. One after another. There were days Caspian thought himself cursed, for partaking of the marriage bed and the joys of those privileges with Esther, had left her writhing in pain so many times. Once was enough. Twice was horrible, and by the fifth time, Caspian thought he should perhaps demand that she take the medicines that prevented pregnancy, for he couldn’t bear her to be in preventable pain, her refusal led to a sixth miscarriage and had Caspian ready to take a vow of celibacy for fear of doing her harm. Niggling doubts assailed him, doubts he could speak of to no one, and would find himself deep in the old vaults where Susan’s statue was, her horn in his hand, as he sat atop the chest of her things. Yes, a time or two he had sunk his hands into that chest so he could pretend that she had merely set such or so item down, and it helped sometimes, usually when he was at his worst. Her horn, her statue, and the smell of a tunic or a chemise, even musty with age, and he could almost fool himself for a second - but it never lasted. Yet it was there, no matter how deeply he had grown to love Esther and find comfort in her presence in his life, it was only within the vault that Caspian dared reveal the most terrible of his fears, doubts, rages, anything - only there could what was deepest be admitted to. The doctors said the horrible fertility issues were due to Esther’s age (though no one actually _knew_ what that age was, for she refused to say) which Caspian was fairly sure he could discount out of hand. While none knew her age and she would speak on it not at all, to him, that implied a woman far older than the beautiful, timeless and utterly indeterminate twenty to forty she appeared to be. If it was anyone’s age that was an issue, it may very well be _his_. Perhaps his seed was weakened by the years of grief, leaving him aged and wizened internally, while his outside looked young? Strong enough to catch, but not strong enough to _stick_. Likely, it was some other reason, one that was squarely his fault if it was anything that could be blamed at all on an individual.

At the foot of her statue, her horn in hand, Caspian sobbed away the constant loss of life he caused a woman who had only ever sought to understand him, be there, and share her light with him. After their wedding, his wife had said that his struggle to find his way in the darkness of the world, his sorrow and soul, was what had truly bid her to accompany him, for she wanted to know what her light could do against something like that. Still, he was an experiment, a study, a curiosity, and Caspian loved her for it. Overhead, Susan’s face looked down upon him, the original sculptors having done their best to impart the truly loving expression she could wear, and share with those in need. He didn’t deserve the gifts of those two women having ever been in his life, for he had let one go when he should have begged her to stay, gotten on his knees and done so or dropped Rhindon to go with her; and the other he continually harmed as he strove to plant an heir for the kingdom in her body. 

Weeks after his breakdown, Caspian was hesitant with his wife, no matter her urgings. There were plenty of other ways they could fit their bodies together, and he continually stated that if the Council was so set on having an heir carrying his blood, then he would do his duty with some willing girl on the side. ...Caspian hadn’t known Esther to have a temper in the eight years he had known her, so to see it expressed had been nothing short of...enlightening. Quite spectacular in its literal sense. And rather terrifying, he was man enough to admit. He had been blinded for several days after the explosiveness of her flaring anger and it was only reluctantly that his sight had returned - _apparently_ an angry star (even a half-human one) was nothing to trifle with. To say that he had gained a bit more guiding light from his spouse that day than usual would be a gross understatement.

And a year later, Caspian was left exhausted, staring in awe, at the tiny, gooey creature draped over Esther’s chest. Husbands didn’t stay in a birthing room, husbands also didn’t tend to be so involved in the birthing - but his hands were steadier than the other physicians, which had been sorely required as his son had gone into distress, necessitating a risky procedure to remove him. A drop of Lucy’s cordial had been administered to heal Esther, another tiny bit to Rilian whose breathing had been laboured and frantic in a very unhealthy manner even after having been prized free. The worst of the labour’s mess of bodily fluids had been dealt with by having a long mat of leather, canvas, and then plenty of extra towels and blankets in place as soon as Esther’s water had broken, and then removed after the birth was done. As Caspian lay on the messy bed, he stared at what had been created between he and Esther, and there was no darkness in his soul, not even a spec of it. Instead, all Caspian felt, other than a tremulous, limb shaking wonder, was light. 

Large milky blue-brown eyes opened and the small mouth rooted for Esther’s nipple, gumming it half-heartedly, Rilian was as ugly as a squashed and wrinkled prune, but by Aslan he was the most exquisite thing Caspian had ever seen. Shifting closer to his resting wife’s form, Caspian rolled onto his side, head pillowed on his bent arm, fascinated. He had seen newborns, held them, in fact, Caspian had bloody well caught them in his hands fresh from the birthing canal, or guided them free with a steady and sure touch. Yet there was _nothing_ he had ever come across that was so...

There wasn’t an adequate word for it. 

“My husband,” even Esther’s worn, beautiful voice, couldn’t cause Caspian to look away from his son, “you’re glowing.”

Snapping a look to her, confused, while his fingers traced the rhythmically grasping fingers of Rilian’s tiny hand on Esther’s bared breast, “Pardon?”

Even covered in thick layers of sweat, normally well controlled blonde locks a haloing snarl around her head, her lips were strangely, starkly crimson still, like fresh lung wound blood, and those lips were moving with deliberate words, her nearest hand coming out to brush his cheek, “It is you who glows in the dark world this day, my husband.” Her own light had burst free a few times during her labour, only to be almost snuffed out several times. But for the moment she was gazing at him, her eyes darkened, even as she watched him intently. “I never thought a human heart could shine so very brightly, as is, your eyes are enough to rival the sun, my husband, you are the most beautiful creature in any world as you look at what your heart planted within my meager form.”

Caspian blinked rapidly, overcome, grasping her hand to his cheek, kissing the back of her wrist, “He is part of you, how could I not love him so much? All you see is what I feel for you, directed and condensed, reflected in the mirror of his existence.”

She smiled wanly, “Of course my dearest husband.” Esther sighed quietly, “Looking into your eyes, I do believe I won’t ever understand love, but think I feel it truly. And maybe that’s better than understanding it could ever be.”

His gaze swung back down to the strange creature that sprouted from the seed planted in the shared bed of their marriage, and Esther’s words almost didn’t break through. Caspian couldn’t say anything to that, could only kiss her hand again, scoot closer, crowding, to work one arm under her pillow, supporting her, their heads touching. Free hand stroking over the rapid, huffily rising and falling back of their exhausted child, Caspian found in the circle of his family’s light, he could see the path he trod clearly, and was unafraid.

....

Grief slammed into Caspian, picked him up, and crushed him. Thirty years with Esther were gone, having spooled on, unwinding around them both, with a marching steadiness that had always left him sitting back in startled surprise whenever he had taken a moment to think about it. Now his remaining years were to be without the woman who had become his guiding star. No more impolitic entrances into his office, or, if bad enough, meetings with the Council or visiting dignitaries, to go to him and touch him with a hand aglow. (There had been occasional accusations of witchcraft, but these were quiet and never spoken of within Caspian’s hearing. It didn’t mean he had been unaware of those rumours, but, since they were untrue, he had simply ignored them. They didn’t understand what it was Esther had done for him, and thus, them by extension.) No more would he awaken from nightmares of the War of Deliverance, privations of childhood, battlefields soaked with blood, or ugly battles with the giants to a room lit by Esther’s sleepy shining as she lay beside him on her back, his body curled around hers. His bed would remain empty no matter where he sought temporary comfort...

But not his heart, for he had Rilian at least to give light and reason, to give him strength for the remaining years before his eventual demise. 

However, his son had a damn fool notion in his head, stalking with frenetic grace of the almost fully adult before his desk. _Was I ever so young? No, there were no years between boyhood and manhood, it was only a few months. Aslan give me strength!_ Rilian’s hair was as dark, messy and difficult as Caspian’s own, but he had his mother’s eyes, shocking in their deep sea navy. And it was some amalgamation of his and Esther’s features that comprised Rilian’s face, yes, that was his nose, her sharply cut jaw and cheeks, yet his dimpled chin. That his son was even taller than him seemed strange, then again, perhaps not, as Esther had been very nearly his own height, her head stopping just shy of his temple, so Rilian came by his rangey height honestly. 

And his son was like a caged animal, gesticulating and wild, “I shall hunt the serpent, Father!”

“You shall not, Rilian,” Caspian countered from his place at his desk, seeking to wrest control of his pain and the despondent temper it provoked in himself. “You are needed here. This is where your duty lies. And that is far more important than personal desires.”

Rilian rounded on him, accusation ringing out, “Your sense of duty is why you refused to wed until the Council forced you to? Is your sense of duty why you _fled_ on the _Dawn Treader_ in hopes of abandoning the realm just for finding Queen Susan and grovelling at her feet? Chasing after a woman with a broken heart after the witch spurned you.”

Old pain there, a wound Caspian thought couldn’t hurt him anymore. Like his bad knee, or the ruin of his left shoulder gained during a joust, for the most part those things didn’t keep him from living or functioning, but late at night and early mornings (to say nothing of damp days), the pain bit into him in an ugly ache that made it impossibly difficult to clamber from bed. Still, no one spoke of Esther that way in Caspian’s hearing, nor would anyone get away with saying similar about Susan. 

With measured calm, Caspian remained seated, refusing to rise to the ugly bait his child threw his way, “Grief makes us do things we should not, Rilian. We are human, we are men, and we feel deeply. This ugliness you speak with, is the rage of guilt and helplessness. Unlike you, I did not have family to support me and love me when I needed it so desperately, so sought the only woman who had granted it to me. When a man is lost in the darkness of his loneliness and pain, he will cleave to any hope he may find.” Finally he rose, leaning forward on his braced hands, “You believe that finding this serpent, slaying it, will wipe away your pain. It will not. Just as my voyage only brought me more anguish, your danger seeking will only sow pain. _I was lucky,_ Rilian, impossibly so, in finding Esther and coming out of my stupid trek better off than when I had gone in.”

“You don’t deny it then?” Rilian was pushing for some reason on something that Caspian hadn’t thought on in years. Maybe it was just his son seeking any distraction, no matter how vicious and short, from his own pain. He had, after all, been the one wanting to escort Esther on a bit of exploration through the kingdom, anything to escape the guilt of failure.

“Your mother was more of a witch than Susan was,” Caspian sighed, allowing himself to be distracted too. “Esther had her own magic, Susan was nothing more than a woman, an extraordinary woman and there will not be another one like her ever, mark my words, but she was as mortal and human as I am. More human than _you_ are, and never forget that. So be careful whom you accuse of witchery.” Scrubbing a hand over his shaved chin, he debated allowing his beard to grow once again - Rilian could do with a reminder that Caspian wasn’t as young as he used to be, and Narnia may need a king in the not too distant future. “And yes, I sidestepped every single attempt at making me forget her. It resulted in the border wars with Archenland, Telmar, and even some problems with bloody _Calormen_ because I would not secure the succession because of it. Love and happiness are _luxuries_ , accidental and unlooked for in our lives, Rilian. _That_ is what we sacrifice for our people and they will never realize it. I did not want to realize it when I left, and now, facing my future without Esther, I am old enough to know I cannot run from that knowledge as I once did so stupidly.”

“So that’s how it is, Father? Do as you say and not as you do?” crying out angrily.

“Rilian, I made _mistakes_ that resulted in the deaths of not hundreds, but of _thousands_ ,” Caspian’s ire was struggling to slip its leash. Roaring, he slammed his fist on his desk, making a few of the knickknacks on it clatter, “In broken, bloody bodies and lives cut short! My selfishness created death and destruction! And for what? A broken heart and loneliness? I made mistakes that you, who was raised surrounded by security and love, should never have to make! You have been taught better, raised better, so that you will be the man you are - a better one than I ever could be! And you wish to hie off and throw it all away? Risk it on some notion of useless vengeance? It will do nothing if you succeed and it will result in anguish and death for more than just you if you are lost!”

....

A family. No, two families. _No_ , **three** families - Caspian had lost _three_ families. Most folks were quite content with having just one and not losing it at all, just a member here or there, who was replaced by newer generations making babies. Caspian hadn’t ever been much like most folks then seeing as he had _lost three_ families. Three, yes improbable, impossible, and it was making him consider going senile. First the one of his blood that he was born to, Mother, Father, Uncle, his cousin he had somehow managed to forget the name of forty, fifty years almost since having heard the boy child’s name, Nurse, Glozelle his instructor in war and tactics. One family, gone. A second had somehow appeared to fill that void and guide him - the High King who was also a father but stuck in a youth’s body. The Gentle Queen who gave succor, but had turned into Susan Pevensie, a being of deep and wild worth than just a listening ear and warm, accepting, wet body. The Just King, Edmund who was advisor, brother, friend. The Valiant Queen, Lucy, who shone with joy, trust - she had somehow been little sister and daughter, his child and it had been the first time Caspian had ever considered just how deeply a parent could love their progeny. And all of them had been sent away, or robbed of life, it depended upon outlook and circumstance really. That was two families...

The third...the third was the one he had somehow wrested from the world. A third family that had grown around a tiny seed of desperate hope for a light in the darkness. Half a dozen children, varying stages of just sparked, to the second miscarriage which had been the worst - Caspian had felt the babe kick the day before it was lost. Hoped for children to love and find endless joy in, they had been nameless, never to breathe the sweet breezes that wafted in from Susan’s Garden. A wife, a friend, a lover, a confidant, a light in the dark that would chase away the ugly fears of a boy turned man who sometimes had to check under his bed, or double, triple check the locks on shutters and door, to be certain none could enter to loose bolts into waiting, soft bodies. And then...then the last, the worst, the one living, breathing person Caspian had created, not out of duty as a king should have, but out of deep, abiding love and respect for his wife... Their son. Rilian - _gone_ with nary a trace or proof beyond a dead end trail covered in blood, the broken armour and bits of body had told the tale all too well. 

Caspian no longer slept with a candle lit or his fire banked for a bit of extra light. He slept in the dark. He lived and breathed the night of his soul, and did his best to walk the path he had once seen so clearly. It was strange what an old man would think on as he sat sleepless in a comfortable chair, unwilling to accept the comfort of his empty marriage bed, especially an old man who should have been hollowed out by loss after loss after loss. One moment he would stare, bewildered and unseeing, eyes straining for any dot of light that found its way through locked shutters or underneath the door’s crack, or even through the keyhole. The next moment, Caspian’s hand would find his faithful dagger, fingers sliding over the whole thing, sheathed or bare, considering. Most of the time the knowledge that his people needed him (and that would have been a horribly bitter sentiment to himself barely twenty-five years ago) to continue doing his duty. Twenty-five years ago, Caspian had forced himself to mostly do his duty, and did it quite well all things considered. Thirty years ago, now _that_ version of himself would deride him as a feeble old man without any pride, fire or spine, who lived for nothing at all but to be enslaved to a people who hadn’t any notion of what being a good king and good man would cost. Yes, himself of thirty years ago had still been selfish. By Lion’s Breath - even twenty years ago, if he had been faced with such steep loss, he would have sought escape.

What those younger selves didn’t understand, the thing that Caspian now, alone in the dark forever but for the awareness of certain, inarguable facts, had come to comprehend...was that freedom and striving for it in any way at all, if one was a leader or a king, only lead to death. To pain. Pain and death for others, and as witness, cause, and often enough, foolish, stupid source - sadly, the king, or at least in Caspian’s experience, seemed to survive his mistakes. It was others who paid the myriad prices. Or so he had thought. Looking back over his life, his losses stacked like cordwood, Caspian could see that one thing in the dark: His struggle had brought him gifts and love almost without compare, but back then, and even a handful of years ago, Caspian hadn’t realized what he truly held. He held his punishment for his selfishness and folly. Because good things are easy to tear out of a person’s hands. To have anything, means it can be removed, and that removal can cause pain.

And it did. And Caspian endured it. He sat silent in the dark, and during the days that marched on, Caspian did his duty without complaint. There was the occasional frenzied grasp of bodies that he partook of not because his own body stirred, but because even a bastard for an heir to supply and sacrifice to the endless care of the kingdom, was better than the legacy of great deeds but no heirs, which he would otherwise be leaving behind at some point. He got at least a few moments of clenched lids and flash of pretend, something that could have once been called peace or succor found in the shudder of false completion that always accompanied such activities. 

So Caspian sat in the dark, one hand caressing a dagger and its proffered temptation of selfishness, but it was more than duty that bid him stay sometimes. Sometimes it was the bone horn he still wore with him everywhere. _Her_ specter haunted him in the dark, it was _her_ sweat, leather, and a bit of wild rose that tantalized his nostrils with memory of the needy fool he had once been, and still was, deep down, buried under everything he had turned himself into. That was the thing that was strange for an old man to think about as he suffered. A promise to never let her go. Some would think it was the Queen he still held somewhere deep inside, for the one he held, cradled, and safe, wasn’t the Queen, but the woman, the girl, the child, the secret whole that was Susan Pevensie. And _she_ may have been a guiding light in his darkness, but she had also told him once, her eyes closed and face dreamy, that if it was his darkness, she knew she was completely safe, that even if she had a little light to shine for him, that he made it not just brighter, but possible. Underneath the king riddled with heartbreak and loss, compacted and buried so deep that it was only in such silent moments where there was nothing to distract him or remind him of being king, there was a tiny, obsidian shard that was Caspian X the Telmarine...and inside that shard, shrunk down small enough so that it could fit within that blackened splinter and make of it a whole new world...was Susan Pevensie. So it was sometimes, not always, but sometimes, generally when the call of his blade actually caused him to unsheath it, to let calloused fingers slither along the sharp edge, coating it all in blood - it was those times when the shard stabbed him deeply in his already beleaguered being. 

For once he had been willing to abandon Narnia. No, twice. Maybe three times. _Probably more, the cuts on your fingertips prove it, Caspian, lie to anyone you please, except me,_ words and thought echoing in a way that put him in mind of the harsh, unyielding angry guise of any good Telmarine noble who only had room in his heart for a few good things, and no inclination to be a good man atop being a good leader. Thirty some years later, Caspian X, the Telmarine may have mostly been relegated to a bit of memory that Caspian, as he was now, tended to curse for an idiot and a fool, but because Caspian X the Telmarine had so little space in his black, selfish, obsidian heart, it meant that whatever was to fill that space, was more important than anything. Valour, honour, duty, friendship, country - none of these were what was held inside that tiny black shard. Inside was one thing only - Susan Pevensie. If he sought escape this time, he would take her with him, and that...that Caspian couldn’t do. Caspian X, King of Narnia, well, he just sighed, shook his head tiredly, and filled his mind and heart with the needs of the people and supplemented it all with belief and love for Aslan. 

But then Caspian began to get truly old. Too old. If he hadn’t been a warrior who saw so many battles, if he hadn’t been starved and beaten with regularity during his formative years and adolescence, if he hadn’t pushed his body to its outermost limits for the sake of pride, anger, or stupidity so many times - Caspian would have been alright. Seventy-two wasn’t so old for a human, there were men on his Council who were older and still jogged up the stairs or went for long daily rides. But Caspian’s body had been as battered as his heart, mind and soul, and it showed, Seventy-two going on a hundred, easily, and it had all come on so quickly. An old man who’s got a lick of sense at that age makes some unpleasant arrangements. Chiefly his funerary ones. He wished to be buried in Susan’s garden, _with_ her horn, it had been with him for fifty years, it could damn well stay with him forever until his corpse was nothing but a bit of forgotten mold, and may some of him stain the horn by that point! Then again, there was a lovely mausoleum he’d had built where Esther was interred in the garden. Fairly accurate statue of Esther on her sarcophagi too. It was also where what little his soldiers had found a decade ago when Rilian had gone off blindly to slay a serpent was placed too. And, like Esther’s statue, Rilian’s was handsome, it even included the lopsided cant of his jaw that came from a jousting accident having broken it. It was the third statue that oversaw the mausoleum that Caspian truly wished to be closest to sometimes, for it was in her shadow on days his servants managed to haul his scraggly, crotchety, and bitter rump to the shade of what was Susan’s statue. A newer one, commissioned from a clan of dwarves who were so good that they even could make the stone’s colour change in a way that was as true to life as living and breathing and couldn’t be weathered off. That rendition of Susan would have been a boon all through the years of Caspian’s frequent bouts of melancholy (then again, if such a quality statue had existed before Esther’s entrance in his world, no one would have been able to convince him to take another woman ever again - the statue would have done fine and it was a good indicator of how far gone Caspian had been back then, that he would have wanted that statue in his bedroom. Probably one for his office and another for the throne room for good measure.) Directly, indirectly, if it hadn’t been for Susan in a thousand and one ways, he wouldn’t have had his family and his people wouldn’t have had much of a king, or at least, they would have had Miraz for a damn sight longer. 

Wizened before his time, Caspian issued the one last selfish thing he could think of - to be buried in the ground itself at the feet of Susan’s statue that guarded, guided, and shone the light of her sacrificial heart on the departed. To be buried with her horn, his weapons, his _real_ ones, not Peter’s fancy Rhindon, the ones that had belonged to a prince who was a boy, who did his best to be a man and tried to be the king he had suddenly found himself wanting to be. If only his shoulders hadn’t broadened so much, he could have also been buried in his ancient and ragged gear from the time of the War. Little of it would fit, even a desiccated and dried up corpse that had once been a tall man when he lived was too big for it. 

That was the last selfish thing. The other...? That was for his people. He would take the _Dawn Treader_ on a voyage and beg Aslan to tell him who to name as his heir for the sake of Narnia. It was stupid really, but his people and the Council pretty much required him to see the farce through. Sadly the obsidian shard didn’t react or twinkle or mock him in the darkness as he formulated his plans. It knew that all aspects of themselves had been beaten by duty enough times that it was difficult to even consider requesting a chance to see the woman who had enabled all of what happened. _No, it was three. Your mother birthed you, your Nurse raised you and loved you best as she could, and then Susan came... And then Esther. Wait, that’s four. Caspian, your mind could not have degenerated so far as all that, can it? Best then to get on with it all._ Four women had given of themselves and without them, Narnia as it stood and thrived on the day Caspian had taken a deep draught of poppy juice and a few stimulants so he could walk about like he was still hale and hearty, was all owed to four women. One known as nothing but a curiosity, a bearer of an heir who died trying to avenge her, Esther would probably be forgotten as anything beyond those two things, maybe a third for her beauty - historians were always on about that. The other would be a footnote, an ancient being brought out in a time of need, that also just so happened to be considered for quite some time, the most beautiful woman in all of the world. Again, it certainly seemed like historians would find only that sort of thing interesting about Susan, as they would forget the fact that the sky was in her eyes, and that her nose was a little too big for her face, that one of her side teeth was crooked...and she snorted when she giggled. No, the historians would condense those two women into nothing but a sentence or, if feeling generous, a whole paragraph! But Nurse...? Or Mother? History didn’t care about them, they were ignored completely. Nevermind that it took four women to make the king any decent at pretending he was good and wanted the job. Caspian, doing his figurehead role, playing it up, the noblest contradiction in history, the Telmarine saviour of Narnia, restorer of the old ways, and whatever new, irritating gunk they would heap on him this time, had stood on the bow of his ship, planning to go ahead and look for Aslan. (Chances were, that even if they made it that far, he would be deader than a pulled up stump thrown in a bonfire. And if he actually did manage to find Aslan in time...?)

 _If we do, this time I shall do the talking, you senile, used up and useless, old man,_ the obsidian fragment warned him - because even back then, thirty years ago and more, Caspian may have been selfish, but he still knew his duty. (More importantly, he had wanted to be worthy of Susan’s regard, so that meant warnings had to be issued, all honourable and all that... She wouldn’t appreciate such a youthful rat badgering old men, even if it was just a ghost of selves gone by mouthing off in the halls of his rattling, exhausted mind.)

However, when all was said and done, he saw a miracle - Rilian. He had wanted to scold, to ask questions of just what the blathering boy had been doing for a decade, and who had been the poor chunk of meat and man that got put in the mausoleum. However, Caspian’s body had quite a lot to say about all that, and Caspian found himself rather...well... _dead_. He had thought it would hurt more. 

_**...My son, it seems you’ve gained a sense of humour at some point in your life,**_ Aslan’s whole body was shaking on a chuckle while a strange creature called a Puddleglum was abasing himself and making a right sight at Aslan’s presence. (Strange thing that, Caspian wouldn’t have ever dared named such a creature with such a childish designation in his studies of the races of Aslan’s creation), there was also the unfortunate presence of (though quite a bit more tempered than Caspian recalled) Eustace Scrubb, and some scrawny girl that was doing her best to not fall over Eustace. And they all were ever so happy and laughing along with Aslan. _**Maybe you took on and absorbed a bit more than you had intended of a certain person, dear one?**_

Caspian, for a brief second, dead or not, felt the overwhelming need to scowl and put a hand on his hip, realized what he was about, then sighed, “Perhaps a side-effect of holding her so long, Your Majesty.” Glancing around, he frowned, addressing the King of Narnia, mostly because the other three were still huddled with heads bowed, either laughing, or trying to keep the Puddleglum creature from further grovelling. “If I am dead, are these three deceased as well?”

 _ **...No, Your Majesty, but I must return Eustace and Jill to their realm,**_ came the information, and it was then that the obsidian struck.

“Susan, please, at least show me she is well, how she is,” and suddenly he was a young man, truly young, begging for the smallest bit to help him survive whatever would be required of him later, any accidental mannerisms and thoughts that had seeped over as he had lost his mind and fallen to dementia, had vanished in an instant. “I have spent a lifetime holding onto that, please, may I have that chance?” Even then, Caspian found himself oddly incapable of asking if he could just...live with her, share a life. But he had already had a life, people didn’t get two.

Jill was about to say something, but for once, Eustace showed how much he had matured, clapping a hand over her mouth, and gave her a firm, warning look. “Caspian, I know the kinds of places she may be, but you won’t like it, and I don’t think you’d fit in.” A pleading glance at Aslan, “At least, I don’t think I can take the excitement of what I’d see...if...if we could possibly be sent home, Your Majesty...if there’ll be any visiting with Cousin Susie...”

And in a wink, they were gone, even the odd Puddleglum creature. 

_**...You have always asked for so little, dear heart, both of you are that way,**_ the great Lion sighed. _**Come. It must be brief, all that has been done is still too new. But you may more than see her, she could use a bit of hope, and you have held onto yours for so long, dear one, maybe you could have a little to share with her.**_

Caspian barely had time to register all the words Aslan spoke, but then all went black.

.....

_His name was - it was unimportant. But by god was the girl across from him a looker. She didn’t look like she really belonged in the place, not really. A sweetheart face with a few bits mismatched in size, yet they gave character, depth, warmth, and life that etched itself into his memory right then and there, which was then followed by actually finding out that she had a good brain in there too. Perfectly imperfect, that was what she was, and most importantly, she was real, at least in the time they spoke. And then came the bloke who had interrupted their hours long conversation, and he was one of those puffed up cads that were all too familiar to him. Nevermind that both took him for less than he was, that was fine, no skin off his nose, and so long as the slimeball didn't push wrong, he wouldn't be finding out. But it was the venom she used in defense against the smarm’s possessive humiliation, that took more than just himself aback, a surreptitious glance at those drunks or just a little tipsy, those that heard it, shivered in surprise. Was it uncommon for her to protect anyone but herself? Not that he needed protecting, not in this little jazz dive. He had a gut feeling that the toxic vixen wasn’t natural to her - except she wasn’t just defending herself against the verbal barbs, but she was defending him too against her jerk of a boyfriend. Deep down he knew she was stronger than that, he saw that look in her eyes, she was a survivour, she just needed one tiny nudge, one little rescue. After she had walked off with an enraged fire in her eyes that were every shade of the most perfect, beautiful clear sky, he dug for everything he could pry from others around him about her. It didn’t matter that he wouldn’t see her again, much as he had enjoyed their hours of conversation, and the strange expressions on her face that actually fit and were real and true when compared to the artifice directed at others - she didn’t need saving, she only needed someone to throw her a life preserver and offer her a way out, she could and would do the rest. Any further interference than that wouldn't be appreciated, and any poor schmo who tried it, would get his balls handed to him on a platter, delivered with the falsest of her smiles. No, better to let her make the decisions, to let her decide what she needed overall beyond a little human kindness and a finger pointing towards the exit. And he knew that a call to the number scribbled on the little piece of paper would give him the chance to throw her that bit of help to get away from that creep who was stifling her and robbing her of life, sucking her dry. Prick probably didn't even mean to, but he'd seen those kind so many times, it never occurs to that sort that there's far more to life than gaudy displays and a bitter bauble on the arm. But, she'd get out, she really was a survivour, he could just **feel** it deep in his bones, that was a good kid, strong, she’d come out of it in the end, and he was content to play his small part in supporting her. Just a nameless guy at a dull party, depositing his one drop to the bucket of life’s building experiences._

_Alright, sure, it also made him feel good, kind of like a hero, better than the kinds those medals he left at his cousins'...? He had to shake his head, and went out walking all night, leaving the bar, aimless. Just him and the night and the city. Pretty good stuff that. Soon as it was a decent breakfast hour, he'd be making that call, an everyday kind of good, one that didn't cost anyone lives, or bullets or..._

_Another shake of his head, his mind back on track, recounting the soft swell of her cheek pinching up on what sounded like it had been the first pure laugh she'd had in ages, even now he could still feel her long fingers in his hand. Those had felt strangely strong, sure, and nice. So yeah, that girl, she was the kind that grew into a woman who couldn’t be caged by anyone, and didn’t deserve to be. But if she ever did choose to **share** her heart with someone finally, he wished her well, settling down didn’t mean being tamed, finding love, didn’t mean being caged. A bright light that had been shed on him for a few hours, bit of handsie, he got a lot out of that, make the dreams easier, something purely human to blot it out. He got that as well as the awareness that he had seen her real face there, and it wasn’t the one she had worn for the others present. When had she last felt safe, secure, and happy enough to show that to anyone? She would be in his thoughts a long time, that girl, and he hoped she found what she needed, what she deserved, and what she was looking for, no matter how wrong the place. Maybe she’d think of a dark haired soldier some time with an amused shake of her head before the hazy thought was set aside as useless could have beens for a few days or weeks, hours or maybe years. A woman unfettered and wild only gave what she felt like, and if she found some lucky slob that appreciated her as she was in all aspects - then good. It would be real funny if it was some artist or poet, because then he could maybe do something with words or art to show how she made him feel, but it didn’t really matter, just so long as whomever she allowed to share herself with and be with fully, got down and thanked his lucky stars for having had a chance. His own had gotten shot down, but that was life sometimes, it had to be taken hold of, protected, guided, and sometimes treated to a bit of percussive maintenance, and sometimes still got all fouled up. But he was almost done there, and he moved on, letting strange, shiny, foreign London fall away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To clear up anything:
> 
> Alfred is _not_ Caspian. At least...not strictly. Alfred is just a random soldier, a vet who was basically open to Aslan and Caspian's consciousnesses sort of...hitching a ride up there. The body belongs to an actual dude, but other than his presence here, he's not important. What is important, is that he provided a carcass for Aslan and Caspian to be in, since Aslan's power has a hard time doing much over here in our world, basically. Alfred's body allowed the use for a voice, the hands for a touch, which gave human kindness, and the words and deeds over the course of the hours prior to Keith's interruption, were meant to assist in at least adding a layer of protection around Susan's teeny, tiny seed of light/hope that Aslan had managed to drop inside her when wiping her memories. The other reason Alfred is important in terms of providing a voice, is because Aslan may not be able to 'fix' things for Susan, but a little influencing here and there, that He can do, especially during such a rare event as havin' a carcass to drive around. Alfred got the Pevensies' house phone number, and he is the one who calls to inform them that "some rich ass" is using Susan etc, but doesn't give details. However, consider, cultural perceptions of promiscuous/sexually decisive young women of the time, and no way her parents would let her run around like that once they realized... Unless Aslan puts a very mild whammy on them. Sort of 'focus on the fact that you love her and need her to stay if you're to help her, so back off, and be patient and supportive' sort of whammy/geas.
> 
> Now, as to why Aslan would do this? The Pevensies, Caspian, etc - they're His children, may as well be flesh and blood. And an actually loving parent will do a lot of crazy shit that sometimes dosen't always make sense if it may give their kid a fighting chance. Aslan is attempting to give Susan a fighting chance, and while Caspian's gonna go chill in Aslan's Country/Heaven for a few thousand years until the events of The Last Battle having a good time with his wife, and friends and son, basically all of this is prep time and such - Aslan's fairly sure Caspian would volunteer to reclaim Susan, but He also is aware of freewill, which means it's basically gotta be Caspian's idea. It has to be when Caspian's ready/driven to risk not for the sake of a romantic loved one, but for the sake of a person who is, pretty much, just defined _as a loved one_. Not only that, but Susan also had to haul herself up out of her own hell of being empty. She'll never remember Narnia, but that's not important. Just she and Caspian have to keep the light of belief, faith, acceptance, and all that other mushistuff inside them and alive. They're stronger together, and will manage. 
> 
> Another thing: Memories? Aslan _could_ , after a few years and He sees that both Caspian and Susan have their little glowy thing and suchlike going on, He could 'bring them home' (euphemism for oh noes, there's been a terrible accident, and they croaked) but I think after all is said and done...that He would just let them live their lives, simple lives that are fulfilling, being the best versions of themselves possible without the pressure and burden of national security and all that crap. Sooo yes, sorry, ramble!


	3. 018: Recent History From A World Away Pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Well...fuck. Okay, so, like, the continuing backwards through time period observations on Susan...uh...yeah. Well, okay, first we got Su at her party girl state, then we got Su at her broken and lost and begging Aslan to help her forget bit...
> 
> Now, well, now we get Su durin' Prince Caspian/Second time in Narnia. I had _meant_ for it to fit into something a little more condensed, while showing just why/how she and Caspian got so thoroughly entangled, so that when she lost that, her fall was feasible... Annnnnnd it turned out long. Real long! Hell, not even quite finished long! So I've broken it down into parts.

It wasn’t his looks. 

Alright, maybe a tiny bit of it was his appearance. It was, after all, one of the first things a person notices about another person for the most part. A bit of information, stimulation to the various parts of the eye, the information absorbed, sorted, then analyzed by the brain - people with functioning sight, if their first encounter with another person, is visual before audio or tactile or olfactory...the sight of them will be judged. Sight opened a door. So, yes, it was his looks a little bit. Not like Susan could help it, puberty was the worst, and she was having to live through it again, and not enough privacy on the long march from where they first stumbled upon Caspian’s scout group, to sort of... _handle_ things on her own so to speak. And she knew such privacy or time would be hard to find even once they actually got into the base camp. Maybe later, but there was so much to do, and she was still watching him sidelong... Puberty, and his looks, it just couldn’t be helped that it all made a little spark that had her studying him more deeply.

But what it _really_ was, was his _looks_. His _eyes_ and how they skipped over, around, assessing, analyzing, but were impenetrable in spite of the odd expressiveness there. They were black, or so Susan was fairly certain, hot coffee black, scalding and boiled down to a darkened sludge, glittering and bright with a sheen... During the Golden Age Peter and Edmund would go ‘sport fishing’ as they called it, basically it was just a really boring, aquatic attempt at recreating a hunt on land looking for big or dangerous game. Usually her brothers couldn’t land more than a few small fish during such excursions, but once they had nabbed a shark. Its eyes had been flat, black, mysterious, and quietly inhuman. At first glance Susan had almost thought the shaggy haired prince had the eyes of a shark. That is until they landed on her, and they flashed, glinting starkly, and for a girl - well, woman trapped in a girl’s body - who was quite accustomed to admiring looks, generally from men though some women too sometimes, she had learned to tell the difference between all kinds of expressions directed her way, no matter how fleet or miniscule they were. 

It wasn’t lust or desire that had dazzled through his dark eyes in that split second. It wasn’t even quite recognition of her, who she was. Adoration, admiration, avarice - all familiar things to see in varying degrees, much as Susan had always thought it kind of stupid how people got all funny about her, fumbling about and heaping recognition on her based solely upon her appearance. But it wasn’t any of those things. (Really, she wasn’t all _that_ special, she wasn’t some sculpture or painting done by a master artist, so why did people go so crazy over her? They should get out a bit more, explore, look around their actual towns for once with open eyes, and they would find plenty of beautiful people - male and female.) No, what she saw there was loneliness, longing of a sort that was free of lust, and recognition on a deeper level, transpiring so fast that if she hadn’t been entirely focused on the man with a sword who was about to get brained by her brother...she would have missed it all. And it took her days while on the hike as he and his scouts led them to their base camp, for her to decide that she had actually read that look properly. 

Edmund and Peter were surveying the great plain, and Susan could practically hear the cogs whirring they were going so fast in their heads. Peter though, oh really, why did he have to scowl? She hadn’t seen him scowl like that since he caught Lucy kissing Peridan during their reign. (Nevermind that Lucy had been quite happy to lop heads, hands, or disembowel any person who offended her person...or at least that was Susan’s point, because the only time Lucy was like that, was battle. Which meant that anyone that Lucy was doing a bit of kissing on, was likely initiated by her, _or_ was someone who knew they had permission to make a bit free. But Lucy would always be four years old and cuddly as a teddy to Peter.) Just what was the sourpuss expression for? 

Tucking a strand of her hair back, Susan glanced about, and saw the blackened flash of eyes catching light, fixed on her, and the dark brows were scrunched together in some form of confusion. Casting the Telmarine prince a smile, one that she had always used to soothe and ease the nervous, making herself more approachable while encouraging them to come forward, and the response was immediate. And _not_ what she had expected. Usually a blush in even the most hardened, or a shuffle, something, those were normal, but generally resulted in a bolstering and approach. Instead, what happened was a flash of shock mingled with a blush that wasn’t embarrassment or shyness, but pensive shame, and Caspian’s entire body language was meant to create space, separation, by looking away, turning towards the plain, and taking a long step sideways and back. 

Voice directed towards the plain, modulated with ultimate control of cadence, the dark head nodded at what was before them, “It is not much, nor what Your Majesties are likely accustomed to, but it is defensible.”

Now, Susan found herself _really_ curious about all that. As the initial days at Aslan’s How passed, arrows bundled, fletched, and crafted, the bits of training, sparring, and such all wound on, Susan often found that any time Caspian was in the same space as her, his eyes were fixed on her. Yet every time, _every time_ , she made an attempt to converse with him, smiled, or just about _anything_ in his direction, his spine would stiffen, he would make some subtle (or not so subtle depending) move to increase distance between them. Which was actually sort of funny when it seemed that they often wound up standing or sitting close together, Lucy’s playful little look all the information Susan required to know it was the littlest Pevensie’s doing. Maybe the culture he came from, men and women didn’t mingle much? That was all Susan could think of, and it was quite possible, daft as that idea was. Sad really if it were true, because she got quite enough of that in England, thank you. (Susan dealt with it, striding through that silly set of social rules, doing what she had to, and pitied those who really believed that such divide was necessary.)

Still, the very night they gained the How, Caspian had given up his pallet and bedding for her and Lucy, so it wasn’t quite that he was truly keeping wholly separate. Just...distant. Which was just _really, really_ odd to Susan. People didn’t try to keep their distance from the Pevensies, especially not vivacious and outgoing Lucy. 

A few days - or had it really been a week? Time always did fly while still wallowing and grinding during war - scouting forays she didn’t go on because her organizational skills were better spent on preparation, rather than being just another archer, and it was clear that Edmund quite liked the prince. Lots of cynically jocular asides and quips were tossed during brief rests and deliveries of won prizes at the How, while the Telmarine had basically...ignored all that. Caspian was single-minded in anything he was doing, so didn’t respond to the hard won praise from Ed. And when Lucy would try to take Caspian’s hand, asking about the forests or anything else, he would extricate his hand quickly, deflecting while giving a painfully polite, measured answer, all the while clearly looking for some way to, once again, put distance between himself and others. Peter even made an attempt, but that went about as well as Susan would have expected. Those two would probably never really get along - to Peter, Caspian was an upstart and usurper that he would have to accept as taking his place in the long run. To Caspian, there...it was more of a wariness, the kind seen when waiting for someone to show their true colours and attack. To Caspian, Peter was an actual _threat_ , rather than just an aggravation or challenger.

And when Peter had given it all a strange look, that particular grouchy beetle brow expression he made when making a decision he didn’t really like so much, but would do for the ‘good of the family’, Susan almost burst into laughter... Because her older brother had wanted to spar with Caspian, to ‘see what style’s current here and all that, you know’. Now, that wasn’t quite the funny part, it was the fact that Peter was flexible enough to handle most of the styles that tended to crop up throughout history, and, judging from the particularly broad blade of Caspian’s sword with its fencer’s guard coupled with the oversized blade breaking dagger on his other hip - it would be an easily countered style to Peter’s sword and shield. 

From one side, Susan watched the two duke it out, winding linen and preparing various medical supplies. At first Peter went easy on the Telmarine youth, but then very quickly found himself needing to actually work harder. And as each fighter applied his abilities with increasing skill, showing that each had been holding back, Susan found her hands no longer as busy as they should have been. Chin on her fist, she watched, measuring the steps and moves, both for the grace of the dance itself, but also because while she couldn’t do much of anything with a blade, the footwork and motion of the body itself gave clues to all kinds of things. In Peter’s case, it showed he was used to being heavier, taller, while Caspian’s - 

He was combatting not just Peter, but injuries. A lot of them. A hitch in a slide of boot on grass, a little twist that shunted force one way because letting it travel through would have incurred further damage... Susan was about to put a stop to it, but Peter just...for some reason decided to plow into the lanky youth like a bull. Caspian went flying, trying to flip, but he landed badly due to a grunting curl to curb some strain or another to his torso. 

Peter began to approach, “Hey now, Caspian, you quite alright there, chap?”

Susan was up and glaring at her brother, and went to Caspian who was breathing shallowly as he began to lever himself up. Ignoring the recoil, Susan shoved her arm around him, and took as much of his weight as he would share, lips pursed down in a tight, disapproving scowl, “That’s enough Peter. Stupid boys, asking to play with sharp objects when tired.” 

Caspian’s head was hanging, and she suspected it wasn’t just exhaustion, but more to simply hide the embarrassment over his not being able to stand under his own power. Still, he spoke, “It would not do to turn down the honour to test myself against the High King, my Queen. The brevity of the bout is my fault, for which I must apologize to you both for wasting time.”

“Oh, pooh, that’s nonsense! Peter, you go do something else and stop being a horse’s arse! I’ll take care of Caspian,” Susan rolled her eyes. Bodily making him turn - and she would drag his sinewy hide if she had to - so they could get him tended, she waited a few steps until fewer people were within hearing. “Caspian, how badly are you injured? And why didn’t you go straight to Morningdew when you returned from patrol?”

Dark head jerking in her direction, the lean form fought rather uselessly to carry itself fully as though there were no damage, “It is nothing, some sleep and food, and my rattled skull will be settled once more, Your Majesty.”

Susan caught him up a bit more as he wobbled, brow arched, “Is that so? If you won’t see one of the healers, then that means I’ll just brain you and tend you myself. Now, are you going to be difficult, Caspian?”

Wincing, looking around, before he ducked a nod, “As you command, Your Majesty. Though...the High King did well enough on braining me, perhaps you could hold off on that for another day?”

“If you promise to not be difficult, I think a good drubbing and braining can be canceled,” as they continued. 

Carefully wending their way through the How, Susan continued observing his steps, and the very ginger shallow breathing. He was half dead on his feet from fatigue, that much was obvious from the facial muscle tics and those jumping about that she could feel through his light brigandine as she supported him. Also, the fact that he was even leaning on her, let alone speaking directly with her after the couple weeks between meeting and the present moment, indicated that he must be really and truly that badly off. Otherwise there was probably no way he would have tolerated it. With the Narnians he had acted comfortable, yet he hadn’t gone to their physicians, so what of _that_? _Probably some manly, dashing do, stupid male problem. What is it with the hairier sex that makes them do that sort of thing?_

Somewhere deep within the yellow quartz granite How’s halls, there was a set of wellsprings that broke through the floor, and it was where most of the water came from, as well as a place to grab a bucket to gain some hot water for a bit of a catch as can bath. _After_ Caspian had insisted they pause long enough to be diverted towards his own sleeping area, where a rather impressively bulky medical kit was gathered. Susan had to swat at his hands as he tried to carry the kit, and with a growl, she found a fairly private spot near the springs to sit him so she would be free to grab a couple buckets, as the youth was pretty disgusting at the moment from not having time to get clean after his return from the skirmishing forays. Of course all that had been made worse by the sparring match with Peter, then rolling and skidding in grass and dirt.

When she got back, Susan found Caspian rummaging through the pack, a roll of linen, and a jar sitting beside him, a vambrace off and a shirtsleeve rolled up, inspecting a shallow and old looking gash. “Oh you are _not_ putting anything on that until the area’s clean,” Susan said as she set the buckets down. “And if that’s the only wound you’ve got, well I’ll eat my hat.”

“You do not have a hat,” came the soft retort accompanied by a darting glance at her.

With brisk efficiency, Susan lathered up the washrag she had pilfered from his kit as he watched, and then set to. Rubbing at his face like he was a squirmy little boy, hand on his chin while she knelt beside him, “You’re right, I don’t, and it doesn’t particularly matter, because there wouldn’t be a need to eat it - _you_ , good sir, are probably a breath or two from full collapse. And then you’d be no good to anyone, not yourself, not the Narnians, not anyone.”

His eyes were on her, calm, fairly blank, and though the light wasn’t the brightest nor best where they were, she realized that what she had taken for black eyes, were brown. Probably the darkest brown she had ever seen in her life. Before risking becoming truly distracted when it really made no bloody sense to - _Dratted puberty, daft hormones!_ \- Susan refocused on the spot on his jaw that just didn’t seem to want to wipe clean...then frowned, tilting his head to the side, and hissed in sympathy. It wasn’t dirt leaving him discoloured, it was a deep bruise, that blended with his sun baked complexion to render what should have been clear red on anyone she knew a dirty brown instead. The whole time she had been trying to just clean up his face, Susan had likely been torturing him. Biting her tongue on an upset curse, Susan rather heaved a sigh, her hands prying at first his outer armour and sword belt.

It was then he fully tensed, hand locking around her wrist, the blandness of his expression vanishing, replaced by wild eyed panic, “My Queen -”

“You’re _lousy_ with damage, Caspian,” Susan replied gently. “You’re going to have to toss the shirt one way or another, and I’ve a feeling your legs aren’t too happy with you _either_ , so you may want to help me out here. I’ve two brothers and been tending soldiers for years - you’d be hard pressed to come up with something I haven’t seen before, so the pants should go too.” Adding as his grip spasmed over her wrist as he had to clearly force his fingers to release her, “If I’m hurting you, you should speak up, Caspian, instead of allowing me to scrub at a dish size contusion like I’m trying to sand wood.”

Mumbling with a hitch of shoulder, that wound up tangling his long arms as Susan tugged and yanked his tunic up while he passively resisted - again, putting Susan in mind of a grumpy little boy, “It was not worth noticing, so I chose not to.”

About to ask just what else Caspian deemed useless to notice, her breath caught at what had been hidden by his shirt. On her knees as she was, Susan saw over the back of his shoulder and down, where neat, regularly spaced, crisscrossed, and oft repeated scars spread in a spiderweb of punishment. Too thin to be whip marks, Susan measured one with her pinky, seeing just how slim the healed wounds were. She could only think of one thing that may be that thin, and it was switching. By Aslan’s Mane though, the force necessary to break skin over and over again with a switch over what had to be the course of years due to how old some of the scars appeared... It explained some of his hunched posture, which kept the lacy damage stretched tight, probably to prevent the skin from shrinking and robbing him of flexibility. 

“I was a rambunctious child that caused trouble,” by way of explanation. Except it was a lie, they both knew it was, his face canted away from her, his shaggy hair having fallen to cover the hint of expression that could be gleaned beyond the corner of mouth that had gone flat.

Drawing a slow, deep breath, Susan wanted to say something that may heal a little bit of the wounds that couldn’t be seen such abuses tended to breed. Except anything that came would sound glib, trite, or filled with false empathy. And with how he shunned physical contact, even from easy and gentle Lucy, a kiss of care and apology to his brow or cheek wouldn’t go over well. Anything that came to mind was either not enough or too much. 

At least it explained how he could so easily block out pain. 

Left no options really, Susan instead began to carefully catalogue his injuries that were above the waist. From one of the voluminous pockets her hiking pants-dress had hidden in its folds, she pulled out a little book for notes. It was a distressingly long list, to the point where putting down ‘deep contusion, possible slow internal bleeding’ like the one over his kidneys actually felt a bit like it was on the lower end of importance. It didn’t change the fact that she needed to plan out a course of treatment, because in spite of his obvious skills at tending himself, far too much of it had just been marked as being of no import. Under her practiced hands, skin was manipulated, tested, bone checked with light and firm touch to see if integrity was compromised or not... Though really, how Caspian had soldiered on so relentlessly when the marks of more insidious abuse were all over him, left Susan somewhere between shocked, awed, and queasy. There wasn’t enough flesh on his growing frame, plenty of tough, stringy muscle and sinew, but no reserves whatsoever, and none of his muscles felt remotely plush enough to cope with the rigors he put it through - and from the texture of the strands her fingers found by digging in to assess further, it was abuse that had gone on as soon as he hit adolescence if not most of his life.

Finally it was time for legs, but by then any shyness or embarrassment the young man could have felt was probably long gone. A body could only be upset for so long before just carrying on in that sort of situation. No doubt that was the motto of Caspian’s existence - that discomfort, pain, privation, were just sort of to be accepted and slogged through no matter what, because there wouldn’t be any kind of reprieve.

Rocking back, to gaze over the small pages that held descriptions of what was broken in his body, Susan heaved a sigh. “I can do a lot for most of you’ve got to cope with for the moment, Caspian, but some of you just needs time, sleep, and four or five meals a day,” saying as she let him take the book, a long, blunt tipped finger slipping back and forth along the pages as he read silently. “Now, what’s going to happen, is that Peter’s going to relieve you on those patrols for at least the next dozen or so, and your food intake is going to increase, and I want no complaints there about my cooking -”

“I can cook,” shrugged admission. “It is best for someone who lived with enemies on all sides to learn how to. Poison is not a pleasant way to die.”

Halted, flabbergasted, hands flopping in her lap, “The Narnians aren’t -”

“Telmarines, my Queen,” he looked at her finally, square, and it was sad. “We are not a people known for our kindness,” a shake of his head. “It is easier for me to envision dancing trees, Talking Beasts, centaurs, minotaurs, and Dwarves of both stripes, gryphons, and all the other hidden beings that populate this place, no matter how their existence is denied by my people...it was easier to imagine those than it is for me to imagine a place that allows four siblings to be as you are.”

Shifting to sit, legs crossed, Susan listened, head cocked. “I don’t understand.”

“You check under your bed as soon as the door is closed and no servants are present, dagger always ready, making sure that no trap of spikes to thrust up through the mattress are in place. That no assassin is hiding,” it was recited, but he was staring at her, not through her, not avoiding, and Susan hoped he saw whatever he needed as he measured her reaction to that. “You check the top of your bed, the curtains, the canopy. Your armoire, that must also be checked. Every corner, your shutters, and you never drink the water in the pitcher, the chilled wine on your desk. You do it first as a game as a boy, taught by your mother to you when it has not been all that very long since you learned to put your legs through pants.” Pain assailed Susan, this was clearly something Caspian took for granted - had he ever known safety? “Your older brother’s screams and choking are heard a year or so after your mother dies, but, being the youngest, still a harmless child whose nurse stays in the same room and with you all day, it is obvious you had no hand in the usual climb to the top.” Again he said, “Telmarines are not known for their kindness. We are very good at killing, my Queen. With few willing to play our games of war anymore, we just get better at killing one another to attain power.” Carefully, the words were tested and tasted, “If Javier had lived until I was thirteen or fourteen, one of us would have likely been left little recourse but to kill the other. It is...rare...for siblings to not be pitted against one another - at least in the highest aristocratic echelons. What you and your family have...is impossible, it would never work for us. No sibling rivals, it was still best I learn how to see to my own needs.” Another shrug, deeper, dismissive, the subject thrown away as no longer affecting him, “So I can cook. Besides, mine tends to be better than what others seem to think I would like anyway.”

Trying very hard to get a bit of levity into the darkness that had overtaken them, Susan teased, “If you’re such a good cook, then why are you so skinny? Like a stressed out rooster that’s losing his feathers and not enough on him to go into the soup pot. Now, if it was Lucy’s cooking being suffered through, _that’d_ explain it.”

That got a puzzled frown, “The castle has only one kitchen, gaining access was not easy. Only on hunts or wargames did I have an easy time. Otherwise, the food taken in the hall would be the only possible safe meal to be had...and I do not like crowds, so was not a frequent visitor, and often enough I was denied entry as is.”

“Anyway, more food goes in that belly, sir,” giving said particular stomach a very light poke, ignoring her urge to bundle him into a hug and cry, “some actual sleep, and twice daily checks alongside what medicines that can be shoved down your gullet can do. I’ll sit on you if I’ve got to to make certain you don’t go waltzing off like any other damn fool boy and get yourself in trouble.”

“Your brothers would be displeased if that were to occur,” another dismissal. “Otherwise, my head would be removed, leaving me to be no use to anyone at all,” her words returned to her. “I will submit to your tending, as there is no other choice, my Queen. My instructors may accuse me of possessing two left feet and being graceless, but I know when I am defeated and how to accept it with some modicum of what my clumsy feet lack.”

Laughing, Susan finally settled in to actually see what medicines were housed in the massive kit, “You’re rather cheeky, aren’t you? Thinking my brothers have any say in what I do with myself. I’m quite capable of making up my own mind, and if I think you need to be conked on the head and sat on while I read a book as a necessary method to keep you in place, then that’s what I’ll do.” Sniffing through and checking the many unguents, she began to apply some in circles over abused but unbroken flesh. Watching through her lashes so he wasn’t aware of her study, “The only thing they ever pleaded with me over was to keep the noise down. Not that I could do much about the squawking of all those puffed peacock nobles who complained that I was inaccessible... Alright, that may have actually caused problems, but wastrels, simpletons, and louts who thought landing the killing blow on some large, dangerous animal that their bodyguards, huntsmen, and soldiers did most of the hard work on the thing was a good way to gain anything but being tossed out of my sitting room...”

Caspian was listening wide-eyed, mouth lax in surprise, distracted from the sensation of her hands rubbing on him for the moment, “P-pardon?”

Mouth curving into a secretive, teasing smile, “I don’t like prancing, entitled peacocks, but they did frequently have some very handsome soldiers in their service that were vastly more pleasant company than their noble employers. There were plenty enough that held my attentions for awhile.” Glancing at him, her hand moving to spread more of the salve over his chest, which was startlingly hairy in Susan’s experience (except for that one blond Archenlander guardsman, she hadn’t seen more than a few stray hairs on most men she’d spent any time with, but Caspian’s was a thick dusting of flat hair spreading pectoral to pectoral, then arrowing down his stomach with a bit of spread before the trail disappeared into the waist of his brais). “Handsome men tend to have had some kind of companionship at some point, you know. Once this is all said and done, mark my words, Ed will be leaving a swath of satisfied yet broken hearts in his wake, while Peter will just string plenty along until he forgets which one was entertaining him that month...”

A shake of head, as though he sought to settle his brain rather than deny anything, as he stammered, “Barmaids do not mind guardsmen, or someone they are aware is aristo but not who I actually was - I usually slipped in amongst the castle’s guards going out, rather than risk some political fiasco dallying with any of the noblewomen who made themselves available...” Jaw firming as he got a hold on himself, gaze fixating over her shoulder, “Not that any of what you choose to do is my business, my Queen, as it is not proper for me to know of any of that. And my activities are not good material for polite company.”

....

Later that night, after she had done everything but shovel food into Caspian, then set Lucy to keep watch (i.e. plaster herself to him with large beseeching eyes that said the sounds of the How were scary and she was sleepy, and she would stay right there), Susan sought out Peter. On a scout ledge, her older brother sat, hands laced over and around a hitched up shin. Making herself comfortable beside him, laying her head companionably on his shoulder, they sat quietly for a time. Her heart was heavy over what the Telmarine had said, and the millions of things he hadn’t that Susan could guess at. There was a story in his flesh that was ugly, it didn’t matter that during the Golden Age she had once or twice seen worse, and knew far too much about how bad people truly could be, because it was still a terrible sin to do that to another human being. To any being, none should be pounded and broken down like that. 

She was glad though that Lucy had indicated with a few hand signs that the Telmarine prince hadn’t seen, that she was willing to keep watch on him, as Susan had taken note of how twitchy he was about the darkened area where he slept. If he had grown up fearing food, drink, people, siblings, (and it left a bad taste in her mouth that she was _glad_ they were dead so they hadn’t posed a threat to him for long) his very quarters, his _bed_... A fear of the dark would be fairly healthy in that light, and the company of a painfully snuggly Lucy prattling him down to sleep, may actually help him gain a few hours of actual peace. His body needed it, but his mind needed it even more. If she hadn’t needed to talk to Peter and Lucy hadn’t been right there, readily available, Susan likely would have sung him to sleep and made him stay there herself.

“Do you think he’ll be able to lead when our task here’s finished, Su?” Peter broke the quiet. “He hasn’t let me close enough to judge one way or another, and there’s too much to do for me to make enough time to dig down to find out. Ed just says that he’s done a decent job so far. So, I need to know, if we get him his throne, will he be able to do what’s necessary?”

Not even bothering to be put out with Peter, “You knew he was wounded, didn’t you? That’s what that silly game was about today.”

Sideways nod, and then the weight of his head atop hers, “Wasn’t leaving much choice. Couldn’t pin him down any other way, so I had to create a chance. He makes you look easygoing in comparison when you’ve got your mind set on something.”

Frankly, “He’s broken, Peter. Mind, body, soul, all of it. He’s as shattered as it gets and still have any reasonable hope of getting through it as a decent person.” Susan dug out her notes, passing it to him, knowing he’d look it over later. “He’s tenacious, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. From what I saw, there’s a good heart in there, behind the big wall that he built to survive. A good head, good common sense - except when it applies to himself. But he’s young, he’ll outgrow that or find someone to clobber him with it when he forgets to take care of himself.”

“He won’t let me in enough to guide him,” Peter’s voice was tired, the frown in it audible. “Makes me want to smack my shield into him a few more times, really. And Edmund’s not much of a teacher in that sort of thing.”

Susan hummed, it was true, most especially since Ed and Caspian were a little too alike in certain things, two sides of a coin, with Edmund being the shiny loud side, and Caspian was the dark quiet one, both fixed around a well of old pain, a river of darkness. Edmund at least had his family, a loving one, who was always there for him, just as they could count on him. Caspian didn’t have that chance, a worn down, caged, dangerous animal, that looked for escape, but was wary of any exit it spied. Narnia was a mess, and would need a strong leader to help guide it to safety...and Caspian could be that leader, but at what cost to him? It wasn’t right or fair, leaders always sacrificed for their people, but there were at least rewards for whatever was given up. 

“At least there’s one good route in,” Peter grunted. “He makes eyes at you and twists himself in your direction the way flowers chase the sun. You’ll have to get through to him Su. Do whatever it is that thing of yours is that makes men all stupid, soppy and willing to listen to anything you say.”

Making a face, “Peter, it’s not like that, and you know it. If being nice and being their friend is what makes them that way, then that’s about all it is that I do.”

“I do? Since when? All I know for sure, is that whatever sot stumbles into your influence, they do tend, for the most part, to grow up right quick to be whatever it is you expect of them if you actually pay them any attention,” he said ruefully. “I don’t know or care too much about the particulars...” Peter halted, then twisted so he could see her face, “Wait - you...you _like_ him, don’t you Su?”

“He’s likeable,” she justified. “Very cheeky sense of humour when he forgets about that iron rod he calls a spine. Just have to work to get anywhere with him.” Adding, “And I don’t think, even if we stayed for forty or fifty years, that you would ever be able to get much of anywhere with him, Peter. I’m sorry, but to his viewpoint, _you_ are as much a threat to him personally as his uncle is. Difference being, is that he knows you’re not going to put the Narnians at risk, otherwise, I think that little stunt you pulled earlier may have gone differently.”

Peter snorted, “Don’t forget about the forest, he was still yanking uselessly on Rhindon while I was about to crack him a good one with a rock.”

Susan sat up giving him a look, “Peter, if he wasn’t such a sad beaten bag of bones, and moderately rested, he would have taken you down as easily as Edmund can when he stops letting you win, or if Ed were to stop playing with you so you think you’re getting better.”

“ _OUCH_ Su, that hurt my feelings,” wincing, hand going to his heart comically. “All one of them that had been left!” Then he laughed, “You’ve got it bad, you _really_ like him, all defensive and protective morher bear over him. Alright, alright, I’ll let it be. Be his friend since he won’t really let anyone else close, okay, Su? Just, if you’re going to get interested in him, spare me the details. Big brothers don’t want to think of some fluffy pretty prince kissing their little sisters, sort of leads to heads having a lengthy talk with heavy shields and he’s supposed to come out of this alive and _not_ brain damaged.”

...

Peter’s ‘help’ was actually rather irritating. Mostly it consisted of overly contrived orders that had she and Caspian working together. What was even more vexing, was that Caspian was obviously not just discomforted, but angry to have been even further sidelined. It was, after all, his war, and it was him who called them to Narnia, and it was _him_ who would have to take care of everything afterward. It was also him that the whole thing sort of...hinged on, because without him, the Telmarines couldn’t be convinced to do anything, and they would have to be expunged from Narnia. 

But now that she was watching for it, Susan did notice more than his long looks at her, ones that she hadn’t observed before because his hair truly was messy and wild, providing good cover for his staring. And did he ever stare. Yet, even so, never, not once, had Susan caught anything greedy in those looks...it was always, always, _always_ a sad longing and pervasive loneliness, that odd thread of recognition. Sometimes Susan did manage to get him to speak, usually when he slipped into forgetting that he was aggravated, that he had some odd idea in his head that he couldn’t be friends with a woman. (Or, she supposed still that that was how the Telmarine culture went, because, really, why else would he be so disgustingly polite and distant when it was obvious he desperately _wanted_ to be around her and interact.) She did feel some irritation towards Caspian though when he did speak - all this ‘my Queen’ stuff and excessive formality really got on her nerves. Susan wasn’t his anything, yes, she was his friend, or at least trying very hard to be his friend, but that ‘my’ thing denoted ownership. He didn’t do it to anyone else at all, just her. 

Worst of all, was when he said it, it made her stomach feel frightfully odd, and she really would wish he’d just stop it.

A small raid that needed archers (and besides, Susan knew it was going to happen at some point, so she just insisted on being given oversight of at least one so she could practice distancing herself from the pain of ending a life) and she returned successful. And she also returned wounded, but it wasn’t important enough to tell anyone about it. She would just go raid Caspian’s enviably varied and copious kit to see to the dreadful thing.

Humming to herself as she entered Caspian’s small, cut off, tucked away space, a freshly filled waterskin in hand, she halted when she realized he must be trying to take a nap. He was balled up one moment, rolling over the next, and flopping on his back, hands raking through his hair, then onto his belly, then his other side, balled up - it continued for a few minutes. Lucy had informed her that during the odd time she tackled Caspian and conned him into being a living, breathing stuffie pillow toy, that the man had a tendency to not move at all until morning, so this tossing and turning must be his norm...but then she heard his muttered litany of frustrated nonsense before it ended with him sitting bolt upright.

Giving him a minute more to be a bit more awake (if he had actually been sleeping during that thrashing), Susan called out, “Caspian?” That got his attention and he zeroed in, tense before relaxing, taking that as a good sign, Susan approached, “Can’t sleep?”

With a rolling shoulder shrugging stretch, Caspian twisted to sit with legs crossed and make room for her in the same smooth motion, “Nay.”

At the head of the pallet, Susan made herself comfortable, while also patting her thigh - the wound she had gotten could wait a little bit, and Caspian needed a bit of tenderness and care, “Lay back down and I’ll tell you a story or sing.”

“That is...a generous offer. Yet I am no longer a little boy, rather, I am a man grown, no matter that custom states that the crown cannot be held by anyone under twenty-five years of age, that has more to do with the years between twenty and claiming the throne needing to learn the last minutia of ruling,” it wasn’t exactly testy, more of a mouthful to distract - probably himself, rather than her, since he was doing that staring thing once more. And this time it was at the spread voluminous softness of her hiking skirts. “If things had gone as is considered normal, I would have been wed by seventeen, hopefully at least one child born or on the way by twenty, and at twenty-two as I am now, chafing at being kept from the crown’s weight, so, would be sent to border skirmishes or to settle feuds.” Firmly, his arms crossed as he leaned his back into the wall his pallet was up against, “Nowhere in that, is there space for being a child.”

His last words were so wistful that it forced Susan to just reach out and run her fingers through his hair, tucking the wavy mass this way and that. “If you want to worry over that sort of thing, then I shouldn’t tell you that even at the age of thirty, Peter slept with no fewer than five stuffed toys in the shapes of animals, and there was always a lamp lit.” Adding with a little tug to a curl that hung behind his ear, “His favourite was a raccoon named Pookie.”

“Ah...” more of a groan, his head pressing and twisting this way and that to maintain contact with her fingers carding through his dark brown locks like a cat. “Umn...pardon?”

“Oh do put your head down, I want to keep playing with your hair, it’s ever so soft,” and fast as that, Caspian was down, his head pillowed on her thigh a little shiver running through him as she twirled her digits at his nape, then his temple, his crown, and all back again. “Now, that’s better. So, if you don’t want to hear me attempt to sing, and you don’t want a story - how about you tell me about something happy or good.”

There was shifting, squirming, settling, and it was almost as though it was too much for him, the way her hand moved over his head, some kind of sensory overload. Whisper quiet, calloused hands over bone, because neither was talking, was something Susan’s keen ears picked up, and she felt a smile quirking...he’d been hanging onto her horn, all tucked and hidden away on his other side when he had been sitting up. Caspian apparently didn’t need any stuffed toys, just an ancient, magical, bone horn. 

Audible, thick, reflexive swallowing, cheek rubbing against her leg, “There is not much to say, unless you desire stories that belong to another?” Further hesitation prior to the halting offer, “Or perhaps I could make something up? I should warn you, that I am...not a proficient storyteller, in case the Valiant Queen has not informed you of this already.”

Susan didn’t reply, just settled in more comfortably, gingerly stretching her wounded leg so that it wouldn’t fall asleep. In the almost darkness, the nearest torch was quite far down the hall and around the corner that led to Caspian’s hideaway, Susan began to rub circles in the frequently rolled in shoulders that hunched up and tried to make the smallest target overall. When she had still been checking him over head to toe twice a day, the obvious neglect and physical abuse had begun to sort of...sink in. Things began to _really_ make sense, his wariness and mistrust of Peter, the flinching from touch, even the way he felt ashamed for reaching out or accepting help...all of that came from Caspian’s long term abuse. That drive, too, that obsessive, dogged pushing he put himself through - don’t let others know you’re not in top form, don’t let them see you weak, don’t let the really strong ones who have any control over you have reason to take note of you... 

“Lady?” it was soft, more cheek rubbing and face twisting back and forth over her thigh.

“Yes, Caspian?”

“The only playmates of my childhood were figments, make believe from stories, history that I had been taught or read,” came the admission. “Through the castle’s grounds, I could...I could slip place to place, with a little, or equally little to myself then, Valiant Queen having adventures, with the Just King telling us if we had gotten through whatever adventure properly...”

What followed was a surprisingly long ramble with frequent pauses for yawns he muffled in her leg, and Susan found herself actually feeling rather sleepy too from listening to the gentle lilt of his voice as it meandered this way and that. Somehow she wound up with him scooting to drape his head, shoulders and part of his chest over both her legs, and it was only when the roll back and forth of his face into fabric that she was reminded of her wound suddenly. Flaring pain expressed itself with a gasp. Really, she had forgotten all about it, had wanted to twist and flop some so she could lay her head in the dip of Caspian’s waist as they would become a deceptively awkward pretzel that was actually comfortable. Or at least Susan recalled it being comfortable in the past when falling asleep with friends.

“My Queen - what, I am sorry, forgive -” beginning to pull away, bumbling, which seemed to only happen when around Susan, and even then, it was quite rare. (And whenever it happened, Susan found herself wanting to draw him down for a hug, because Caspian was beautiful, but it was when he was sweet that she wanted to wriggle up closer to him. Aslan, she was as bad as Lucy!)

Susan squeezed his shoulder, wincing, “It’s nothing, I just,” a small, self-deprecating laugh, “I sort of pulled a you. Originally, I’d come because I’d meant to purloin a few of your medicinals to take care of a wound, but...well, I sort of just... _forgot_.” Using her other hand to make another pass over his head since it was the first thing she’d ever hit upon that made Caspian relax, tractable, and made him not just listen, but _hear_ when it was done, “War can be so exhausting, the waiting, the flurry of action, then when it all goes according to plan, the din, the stress... This was so nice, to let it go for awhile, and be peaceful. Even in day to day life back during a time so many call a Golden Age, it was still hard so often, and finding any respite was always a joyful surprise.”

Hoarsely, even though he continued to straighten and sit up, “Aye, lady, it is.” Clearing his throat, more shifting, and a good sized stub of candle was lit, “If you let me assist you with whatever injury you have taken, my hands are steady.”

Raising a brow, trying to repress a playful smile, “And here I thought you’d be prepared to squawk politely about how it wouldn’t be proper to get a look at my leg.”

The expected frown tightened his face briefly, while he pulled his kit out, “When it comes to injury to a friend, this...squawking you mention, would be discarded as interference. Later, when angry brothers find out where hands and eyes have dared to impertinently stray, there may be a few short lived ‘squawks’ of innocence, but that is the way things go.”

Baring her leg well above mid thigh where the haphazardly bandaged gash resided, Susan couldn’t really figure out how it had even _got_ there without tearing up her skirts, but that’s how battle went. It never really made sense. Besides, there was always plenty of sharp, jagged, broken things on the ground, a forgotten stumble or similar had been the source. In a fight, Susan ran on training and instinct, blotting out everything but what was necessary for survival and awareness of the overall situation, its tides and moods, and that meant some things were overlooked or forgotten. 

Chilly numbness was spread, bringing Susan out of her thoughts, Caspian’s hand slathering some sort of thin, sticky paste that frothed and ate at the contents of the wound. It looked horrible, like it should hurt like the blazes, but she felt nothing at all except spreading cool tingles. Once the frothing finally stopped, all was sponged away, with a thorough, careful, phenomenally gentle touch, and all of Caspian’s focus was on that task alone, nothing else. And yes, his hands were very steady, moving with grace, each motion appearing planned, well practiced, with no waste of excess motion.

“Under most conditions, a wound left more than an hour or so, should not be stitched up if it has widened,” Caspian’s gaze was locked on the slash breaking the surface layers of fat and skin open, thankfully it didn’t go much farther than that. Fingers pinched the cut skin together, measuring how far it could still stretch, before announcing, “But it has not spread too far it seems, and while it will need more dutiful watching than if it were to simply be packed and bandaged, then if you like, I believe the benefit would outweigh the risk in stitching it back together.”

“Then I’ll entrust myself to your capable hands, Caspian,” and made herself relax. Just because she wasn’t feeling the pain, didn’t mean that the sight of her own flesh being damaged wasn’t weird or disconcerting. Diligent work followed, precise and applications of squirted potions or oils made the tissue pliant so it could be coaxed together. Some of the smells were familiar, and Susan asked, “Do you make all your own medicines? It’s been simply ages since I got to play mad scientist myself...”

Hunched over her leg as it was draped and balanced in his lap, his kit spread so he only had to reach over her thigh to grab this or that bottle, jar, pouch, or tool, “My professor covered many subjects that I was expected to have some understanding of, alchemy was one of them. So I knew how to create or combat poison, but I eventually came upon a book that was quite old and held a great deal of information. It was useful, so I learned as much as I could, and had good cause to be happy over the happenstance that had me stumble upon it.” 

It was her turn to be wistful it seemed. “That’s something I miss about back then... The libraries were home, my gardens and orchard... But what I learned and took out of them, made from them, and used for the people - I miss that. My little laboratory, my tools and kits, the big apothecary chest and its perfectly labeled drawers, the little notebooks I filled with my recipes...” Nose crinkling at the memory, “By the time I was twenty-eight, I had sworn off the idea of ever giving birth - I’d been called to help with so many difficult ones, that the very thought that I would subject my own body to that, was complete and utter madness.”

“Rejecting all the ‘buffoons, louts, simpletons, and wastrels’ that I recall you labelling your former suitors as, would also have had something to do with it, I wager, my Queen,” his focus may be on his task, but there was a smile there revealed in the light of the candle. “I think overlooking all of them and taking one of their soldiers as the father of such a babe, may have resulted in some...troubles. Quite limited options, sadly, as there is little doubt how you would excel at motherhood just as you do in things you apply yourself to.” 

When all was said and done, Susan found her wound had been tended with more tenderness than she had ever experienced from another person. If the skittish glances he sent her way after he had finished were anything to go by, it may have been his way of repaying her for the connection of a loving touch Caspian had been denied for most of his life. Not wanting to lose whatever progress had been made between them, Susan readjusted her skirts so she could tug him in to cradle him. As with any touch, Caspian at first went still, but having divined the best method of holding his attention and combatting his urge to pull back, Susan wove her fingers through his hair again. Slowly, gradually, he scooted down so his head was pillowed on her bosom, his lanky body curled on its side between her legs as she remained propped up in a lean against the wall. 

And again came his little rubs of his face, except it tickled her, because his stubble - while softer than most she’d ever come across - still scraped over what little of her breasts were revealed by her dress. Sleepy, drowsy sighs, contented, and her horn appeared, grasped in his hands once again, the long fondling motion renewed as it was held close to him. She wondered if Caspian noticed he did that? Then came his admission, a continuation of what small, fragile things, tiny dreams that Caspian had clutched and cleaved to as a boy, that the imaginary Peter had taken the role as father. Authority figure but one that was proud of him, told him to work hard, that the bad things and pain were something he could move through and learn from... To have met the real Peter had probably been a disappointment, because while her brother would have done a good job fulfilling that role, in the body of a young man that was younger than Caspian’s own, draped in such bearing and weight, while appearing to have nothing to back it up... Yes, no wonder Caspian had a very difficult time seeing Peter as prideful barking that would easily become a threat. 

Susan was fairly certain she already knew the role Caspian had daydreamed her in. She still asked anyway, rubbing her face into his fluffy hair, breathing in the musky smell of leather, salt, metal and man, “Did I get to have any part in these lovely adventures?”

“My Queen, lady, you...” the cheek pressed to the top of her chest went hot, blushing so hard Susan would wager he glowed. “You must understand, I hope, that...that the histories expound upon two things about you. Your beauty and your nurturing ways. The way...the way you were always discussed, it was these as the solitary focuses, as if this was all that there was to you. A beautiful mother, nothing more.” Caspian sighed, a longing, forlorn one, “The source of softness in my life was like that - my mother, she was beautiful, tall, willowy, toffee coloured skin, and chocolate curls in natural barrel ringlets everywhere, soft and beautiful and light compared to everything else in the world which was all dark and stern. And she would carry me on her hip, not worried about sticky handed boys ruining her finery, always trying to straighten my hair that was an unfortunate mix of her own and my father’s, leaving it impossible.” 

Brushing his bangs back from his face and holding them there, Susan tucked her head down enough to kiss his forehead. “Just so you know, I like your hair and how it’s always announcing that someone should at least try, yet again, to keep it from flying all over. But, I imagine that if you let it get all the same length, you could _probably_ fake making it manageable by tying it back.”

“Then you would stop touching it,” it was muttered so very softly, that Susan couldn’t be certain that was what he said. It didn’t help that she was struggling not to giggle because Caspian was rubbing his prickly face over her breast again, like he was trying to burrow in and find a safe place to hide. A little louder, “Though, now, I am wondering if I only applied one sort of understanding to nurturing.”

Blowing a lock of her own hair from her face that had come loose, “So, you’re saying that you thought being soft and caring was only for mothers?”

Hitched shoulder twitched against her stomach where it was pressed, “It was my only experience with it, so, yes. And so it was sort of...just, the thought of waking in the night to be sung back to sleep or something. That was what I daydreamed of when afraid in the night.”

“And what do you think of all that now?” Susan asked with a little bit of a hum, rubbing his back.

“Mothers always nurture, it is expected, so it is where it is noticed and lauded, but that it is not confined to that place only.” Which was a fairly common concept, Susan agreed, but kept listening because Caspian was working through his thoughts. “Instead, I think it may be that others do not nurture much or well, because they do not know how to feel love and protectiveness for others. So...so perhaps the nurturing is more about love than softness. If others are incapable or refuse to express love, then they cannot nurture.” Cleared throat, cautiously offering, head rising up to stare in her direction in the dimness, “You do as you do, because it is love of everything, and do not care particularly to hide any of yourself or feelings for the world and those in it. You are unafraid and not bound by others’ instructions that you should do as they do.” Head laying back down, “That is why you turned to healing, diplomacy, protecting, guiding. Why your abilities seem to play in the background, because you give what is missing or limited in every other place, and it is not very loud or ostentatious, but it is the lynchpin that holds everything together.”

Shifting and ignoring his startled reaction, Susan pressed a soft, loving, but innocent kiss to his mouth. “Then I’m just glad you managed to have found some of it, somewhere, somehow. And so long as you don’t think of me as your mum _now_ , I’ll happily forgive you.”


	4. 018: Recent History From A World Away Pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've sucked a friend into fandom, and she started wailing "I SHIP IT I SHIP IT ALL" and I was like "what? Pete/Su and Su/Cas and Pete/Cas or somethin'?" to which she replied "NO - SU NEEDS TO STAY IN NARNIA WITH HER HAREM! Su/Cas, Su/Ed, Su/Pete!" 
> 
> ...we got to talking, and it's fairly frequent to see Su/Pete, especially a more domineering Pete. But canonically, it's not Pete who goes to the lengths for Susan. Ed's the one who goes to war, crazy daring-do, who understands her, tries to really be there, etc. And it's not Pete that Su 'gets'...it's Ed. *twitch* And lots of times I work in that Cas and Ed are closer, more similar, have an easier time connecting, though each is different, there's sort of a meshing between them that happens easily. Brothers at arms, chess freaks, big readers and geeks, similar senses of humour etc. And that I often have Su say that Ed is the brother she'd trust to get somethin' really done, or that she was the one who comforted him, etc, etc... *twitch* Hell, at some point when Su was at her worst, she thought that her idea of a perfect guy would be one sort of like Ed. DAMMIT. Now Nagia's got me shippin' that on the side. Fuuuuck. 
> 
> (I've a few brief forays into Pete/Su, but it's never approaching healthy, and Pete never tries to really understand her. He owns her, no matter how much he may love her. And it's never really her choice or idea, it's never anything she sought or hinted towards - she may have gone to him and relied upon him for a sense of safety and security... It's just not fully mutual. _And even then there's subtext I squirmed in there accidentally that Ed always was worried that Pete wasn't SEEING Susan in those situations!_ BAAAARG!)

War was a funny thing. In stories they always were quick, exciting and thrilling events, condensed down to a few key pieces, and that’s what would be carried on down through the years. The stuff that happened in between would fade away, be forgotten, even by those who lived through it. Wars that lasted decades - good example was The Hundred Years War, also aptly named - could be packed and compressed, shoved, boxed up, into manageable bites. No one and nothing were exempt from forgetting, glossing over. Not even Peter, who had led Narnia through wars, battles, and disagreements for seventeen years. Thirteen hundred years later, almost all of their reign was made into detailed footnotes, the actual privations and conflicts mostly relegated to forgetfulness, and only the worst, loudest, and most violent bits and pieces were recalled. Such was the way history went and the minds of people.

Peter forgot, glossed over, and he wanted the war delivering freedom to their people that would also deliver Caspian a throne, finished. Susan had seen him count the casualties, had seen him walk through the infirmaries while she tended to the wounded, Lucy or Caspian frequently at her side, along with the small army of physicians, field medics, and the few actual healers available. As much as Susan would also like to stop digging through ropey guts, listening to pained cries, the despondent and despairing struggling to hold onto their lives while she worked steadily, numb, blood and worse coating her arms, apron, sometimes even her face...Susan knew that rushing to the war’s conclusion would only cause worse. After all, historically, her siblings didn’t work the infirmaries, they only saw the battlefield, the command tents, and then oversaw the burials. Susan was the one who fought the quieter, unseen part of battle. They didn’t have to watch the light and hope fade from eyes fogged from pain...Susan had always done her best to protect her family from bearing witness to those portions of conflict. 

So, she understood, Susan really, really did, why Peter was willing to risk the horror of attempting to take the castle. While she argued, along with Caspian, against Peter’s plan, there was nothing for it. Peter won out, for the Narnians put a crowned high king of old, above the logic of others that they also believed in. Often, rank, especially superior rank, was a burden. 

Stark austerity, extreme functionality - those were the hallmarks of the Telmarine castle. Susan didn’t let herself think of each thing that could go wrong, or the things that did, she reacted, acted, mind racing and body striving through the battle. It was coming upon Miraz (and just how Susan had kept herself from feathering the bastard herself was one of those mysteries that couldn’t ever be solved) and the woman in his bed, that Susan’s heart broke. Caspian had gotten ahead of she and Peter, his actual knowledge of the castle had granted him access, and Susan’s heart broke. All he had wanted was what anyone would - a family who loved him, a safe place to grow up in...but those weren’t what Caspian had available in his life, so was willing to settle for the truth. In that moment, when Caspian’s aunt (prune something) had looked at her husband with horrified disappointment, pain and sympathy directed at Caspian - Susan’s heart broke then too. His aunt had cared about him, but probably had been forced to keep it quiet...and her husband drove her to shoot Caspian. That cry of anguish that came from the woman rent Susan apart, along with the startled, betrayed pain from Caspian... Oh Aslan, how could one person like Miraz cause so much pain to others?

Afterwards, after seeing so many Narnians die, after slaying so many Telmarines, Susan was wrung dry. Days of rapid flight pushing bodies to their breaking points, slowing only so that trails could be hidden, so that some bits here and there could be destroyed in hopes of slowing the speed the Telmarine army could muster at - and when they achieved the How, Susan needed something, anything, to help her forget. To help her let it go. Her sleep was riddled with the cries of the dying and left behind, her soul weeping at the cruel tyranny of war. Susan Pevensie was fairly certain she couldn’t find anyway to blot out those nightmare noises, but Queen Susan the Gentle could bluff her way through the great dividing wall Caspian kept up. Or at least get herself in the door, manage to convince the Telmarine prince that they both needed more than the friendship they shared, at least for a night, a few hours, _anything_ to not hear that.

Precious hoarded tallow candles were quickly yanked from his pack, stuck this way and that, lit, and every few moments Caspian was casting her glances, as though afraid she would back out, disappear, or all of it would vanish into a dream. Susan rearranged his pallet, tossing on some of her own things accumulated over the months, repressing the urge to just bury her face in the smell of his bedding. It wasn’t necessary, Caspian was right there, his arms opening, and it was _his_ throat she was pressing her face into. For a moment, Susan was tempted to pretend, to pull on her mantle of Queen Susan, to not admit that she was afraid and in pain and that she was quite certain that only Caspian’s embrace could keep it all out. Instead she relinquished her grasp on Queen Susan, and let Caspian just hold her, Susan Pevensie as the tears she had hidden broke free. 

Fingers from one hand were carding through her hair, at some point having undone the businesslike braid she tended to wear, and a sinewy arm kept her pressed in close. Soft words were murmured into her ear, ones she didn’t know the meaning of - they weren’t English, or, well, she supposed, _Narnian_. They sounded a bit like really odd Latin mixed with some other things. Definitely a few words in there that she recognized as having originated in Calormen. The tears had stopped as abruptly as they started, and she really did hope that she hadn’t blubbered too long. 

Snuffling sheepishly, Susan began to pull back, only to have Caspian’s hold on her tighten, a hand pushing some of her hair back, “Let me share your burdens, Susan. You need not always be so strong.”

Closing her eyes, Susan sighed, rubbing her cheek on his dampened shoulder, “Caspian, you’ll just make me all weepy again if you must be so wonderful.” Placing a kiss on his jaw as she finally made herself lean back, “What language was that? I don’t recognize it.”

“Ancient Telmar,” with a light shrug. “It was a mandatory study for me, a prince was expected to know his roots, be able to read the ancient, mouldy declarations... Dry reading to bore most any sane creature to tears... Handy for times when I could not make myself sleep.”

It was a silly giggle, pointless really, and Susan even snorted in the midst of it, which had Caspian’s eyes lighting up at the sound. Enchanted by the playfulness in his look, Susan pushed into his arms deeper, meaning to bowl him over for a little tussling and petting. Ever the uncooperative type, instead his body tensed, resisting, brows rising sharply, but Susan quieted any sort of question with a kiss, needing to taste him. Through her lashes, Susan watched Caspian’s lids flutter closed briefly before they opened, hooded, a low hum, lips parting, and his tongue swept beyond her own. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who wanted to see the other.

Thorough, but sweet, that was Caspian’s mouth on hers. Susan wanted hunger, as good as he tasted, as he felt, she needed heat to chase away the chill of fear. Pushing a hand under his shirt, stroking and tracing the densely packed muscles that had filled in with all the steady eating he had finally been convinced to do, Susan let Caspian have his head for another long moment, relishing the combination. But she wasn’t fragile in the way he was treating her, Susan wasn’t spun glass, except for the cacophony of dying screams that would haunt her for the rest of her life. Hand pushing beyond loosened laces of his breeches, Susan cupped Caspian where he was hardest, the soft, fine quality linen of his brais meeting her touch. Thankfully other than a growl and being kissed with a hint of more force, Caspian didn’t protest - she didn’t know what she would do if Caspian pulled back...probably cry. 

He had some obsession with her hair though, or her skull more accurately, the length of Caspian’s fingers of one hand were mapping and sliding along her scalp, tilting her face and supporting her neck all at once. Other men usually went to hold her up, arms around her back or one grabbing for her hips, a breast, but Caspian seemed to desire being able to gain the best angle to taste her mouth unimpeded, allowing her to find what was most comfortable for her posture. It was an odd thing, strangely erotic too, because while his other hand was dancing over the crisscrossed laces of her bodice’s back, undoing and loosening, the sides of both arms supported her, Caspian appeared to be comfortable with receiving whatever proof of her own desire there was. Whether she wished to press tighter, or put enough space so her hands could map and explore his front, the choice was there and hers. 

There was a brief break, Caspian panting out a deep groan as she reached deeper, bare, silken flesh slipping and sliding, the hint of moisture on his tip spread, then Susan squeezed him harder, harder than a long ago inexperienced version of herself had thought would feel good. But it got her that groan, that rolling up hitch, as he went from sitting back on his heels to rising partially to his knees. It was a good sound, earthy and smoky, undeniably male - Susan wanted to hear it again. 

Kissing his chin, Susan nuzzled his face, but back enough to catch sight of those beautiful eyes that couldn’t decide if they were black or brown at the moment, and though there was more light in their little corner now than ever, she couldn’t tell if the abyss of his pupils had swallowed up all the brown or not. She could only see his want, the flickering need, and that longing, oh it was such a deep longing, to join, to be, to exist, to share...to be _seen_ , to _see_ and know. It made her breath catch to be looked at like that. Oh, oh there was lust, hunger, but it was so deep, so deep she could drown, and it wasn’t a simple primal urge to mate, possess, to strive for feeling alive when under duress, it was something else, and Susan didn’t even have a name for it. 

Breathing the words between kisses, her other hand sliding and tugging at his tunic, “Off, this needs to be off, Caspian. I need to see you, I want to watch your body.”

“Yours,” soft mutter, lips finding a spot on her jaw. “Your body, it belongs to you. I am yours, always, I give myself to you. Only you can have me like this.” Forehead resting on hers briefly, huskily, looking into her eyes, “You need only direct me to anything you need or desire, and I will always act for you.”

Hand slipping away so she could trace his eyebrows, then touch the little mole atop his cheek, under his right eye that always made her want to run fingers across the top of the bone, Susan’s voice was rough too, low and purring, even as she said earnestly, “Caspian, I need you to act for you too. For what you want. I don’t want to rule you, I want you, and I want to love you, but - but not to rule you like that.”

“It is not ruling if it is a gift,” Caspian shook his head slightly, disengaging enough to yank his tunic over his head. “It is not ruling if it is shared, is it? Anything to be with you, Susan - to be with my Susan,” her name cautiously tasted and rolled around again, possessed and claimed. Sitting back on his heels, his own calloused fingers touched her face, then her neck, studying her, “Never in my life have I wanted so badly to belong to anything. Not my country, not my family, not my people. Giving myself to you, belonging to you, is the only thing I have ever needed the way others need air. Whatever I am now, whatever I was, whatever I become, it is yours. Your desires are mine, and that makes me happier, more at peace, than I have ever been, Susan.” She was about to protest, but he added, conviction there, just as there had been out on the scout ledge, but different, a surety, a comfortableness, as his hand lay over her breast, pressing gently to her sternum as he looked at her, “But that is for Susan Pevensie only. Queen Susan I may admire for her many fine qualities that only the best of us humble mortals can aspire to, but she is a figure, an idea - you are a woman, and will take this gift from me, know some of what it means, and keep it safe where no one, no man, no pain, can ever do harm to me.” Susan shuddered under the ardent force of his expression, his fingers going to the rest of her stays, loosening her overdress, “Susan Pevensie is the only place where Caspian may be himself, and be safe - and I pray to what I hold dearest, that I can return even a taste of this to you, and will do what I can if you but wish it and allow it.”

Shaking her head, Susan reached back and under her dress, pulling her very sturdy, faun made ankle boots off, and took one of his hands, directing it to help her remove the rest of the heavy outer bits of her dress. “Caspian, you say things to me that terrify me, not because they’re frightening, or because I feel threatened...” He was watching, always watching, head cocked, listening, and the hunger was there, but it was also tempered by the desperate longing that forced the Telmarine to patience so often, while the over bodice was parted and pulled forward, and she tugged her arms free of them. “They’re terrifying because I want them, because it’s everything I never let myself wish for. Not - not to have someone perfect or good, but to just...”

“Be seen and wanted for yourself, accepted for yourself, not what people expect to see, want to see, just you, no more, no less, in a setting where you are allowed to give the same to another,” Caspian’s gaze didn’t leave her as the garment was pulled inside out, set down to be added to the softness of their tumbledown pallet. 

Susan nodded, scooting and twisting to be free of her skirt, which she handed to him and watched as he set it aside - it was voluminous enough to make a good blanket along with his cloak. “What did you see -” correcting herself, “No - _when_ did you see...” not sure exactly even after trying to find the words. 

Susan Pevensie wasn’t always good at ordering her thoughts, being reasonable, at knowing what needed to be said. It was scary to choose to make herself vulnerable like that in that moment, no matter how her body sang and cried out to tackle Caspian. She wanted to know, to hear his thoughts, just as much as she wanted to cover him her wet scent and have his release leaking down her thighs. 

Caspian broke her gaze, and there came a flush, mumbling, “It is cliche.”

“Tell me,” reaching out she wound their fingers together. “Please?”

Head hanging a little, to the side, but she saw the peek of a glittering obsidian orb through his bangs, “When I saw you the first time, I thought I saw the...the same ache I carry. The...the burden to hold it all united while hiding the self where it cannot be harmed, judged, or the last bits of it expunged for whatever others deem to be good reason to make you discard that part.” Lips pursing, “It was a mirror, along with fear that your brother would kill me when I was not even known. Care for a stranger, even to throw out a cautious reprieve in search of information - this...this is not present in Telmarine society except for a few commanders or captains who would not sound distressed. Rather, they would have waited and then given orders to capture for questioning. You...you sounded upset, afraid, that a person would be hurt without being certain they deserved it...” Clearing his throat, “You may deem it a small kindness, a caution that would save yourself, your family from guilt over a possible non-threat. But this...this little kindness to you, is...foreign to me. It made me look, again, and again, and it was...disconcerting...how much I longed to be near that. To get even a little bit of something like that which you take for granted. It is small to you, but it is everything to someone like me. So, I watched, but when you, your family, offered me this, I realized as selfish as I am, as needy as I am, that I was not worthy of it.” Grimacing, “My kind did this to the Narnians, my forefathers, my _father_ , my dozens of times greatgrandfather... No, no,” he shook his head vehemently, “not until penance was paid, attempts to truly right the wrongs, only then could I hope to be able to accept what was offered.”

Studying him, “And now?”

“No, still, no, not now,” he shook his head again. “The kindness and acceptance of your family, of the Narnians, of Aslan, of it all - I cannot accept it. I _submit_ to it, as to reject it causes more than just myself pain. But you...I see the ache, the pain of being unknown, behind the mask of duty...and while I may not deserve the great benefits I gain from the company, it is you who deserves not being left to it, untended. So...I may be unworthy, but you are worthy of all those kindnesses and good things, and since no one else seems to be trying to ease what harms you so, I am left to act.” A rueful twist of his lips, “When you came to me, I knew it must be that I was the last man to your last woman. And I was grateful. Am grateful.” Caspian shifted his impossibly long legs, and began to yank on his boots, “But the Queen is kindness, gentle, and love of all things, a true daughter of Aslan her subjects and witnesses would say. But Susan...Susan is solid, and no archetype. It is she who is real and it is she who is really the child of Aslan - because is it not said, that He does not come when called, because He is no tame Lion? You are dichotomy, diverse, flawed and perfectly imperfect. And that is what sings to me, calls to my own rough and broken pieces that I would take what is of myself that I have, to fill in the spots that hurt you. For you are myriad and wild and untamed, but you are also good and should not be left in pain.” Susan gripped her chemise, then stood, taking his hand, and began to push at his trousers, his own hands moving over her corset, and she quailed, because she didn’t want to rob Caspian of anything, only to share herself, and receive whatever of himself he wished to share or show her in kind. It was like a vow though, “Take what there is of me, Susan, so that you need not be unseen, take pieces of me, my heart for where you feel that you, as yourself, are unloved.”

Tracing the scars over his chest, they were few, very few, and what there was, was mostly newer damage, gained over the last few months of war. “The only empty spots that need filling, Caspian, are the places I’ll empty for you, so that you don’t have to be alone either. Because,” gripping his shoulders as they stood, barefoot, cloth and a badly made bag stuffed with laundry and hay that was his bed, “I see you too Caspian. You’re not what you call yourself, you’re not what they told you you were, you’re both more and less. In the quiet, when I hold you, and you don’t even have to talk, I can still hear you, and I can still see you even when it’s pitch black. I see Caspian, both man and boy, and that he lets me see him, even though he’s afraid. Mirrors reflect ourselves, Caspian.” Her corset clunked as she finally pushed first the leather down, before her arms were raised over her head, her chemise pulled free, and as her fingers hooked into his brais, his did the same to hers. “What you see in me, exists already in you too. And what I see in you, is there in me.”

Yet after she spoke, she found herself embraced, clung to, his forehead on her shoulder, rather than her own bloomers having been shoved down. But this was important, she wanted to give to him too and not just take everything he had to offer. Lips on her shoulder, moving in unintentional kisses with his words, “Then I shall work on being as beautiful in soul as you are, so that maybe I can reduce the pain you see when you look at me. But I believe I have far more work cut out for me if I am to be much like what I see when I look at you.” He pulled back, and there was a smile, cheeky little one, ducking to the side, impish, and oh Aslan he looked so heartbreakingly young, while she was practically in her thirties, body notwithstanding, “Also, if what I see when I look at you, is what I am, then I am far more petite than expected, and look rather fetching in lavender and plum. My mirror has been lying all this time, forefathers it is no wonder I still nick myself when shaving sometimes.”

Susan couldn’t help it, she laughed, and it was one of those ones that went through her whole body, throwing her a bit forward, and into a whole lot of hot skinned prince. Oh by the Mane he smelled good underneath that tunic that once had been so fine, but had been worn too many times, donned for the raid so there was a chance he may blend if someone accidentally spied him. There had been some effort to get clean after the raid and subsequent driving flight, leaving instead just sweat, salt, and bare flesh, a bit of things that were best not thought about that had been picked up and left behind by the tunic, but somehow still mixed in so very well with Caspian’s smell. She had always noticed he smelled woody, smoky, salty and freshly tilled soil, with metallic tang and musky leather, hay and horse, an amalgam of natural things...but up close, really up close, Susan couldn’t do anything other than press her nose into his pec, rub her face in the feathery hair there, and breathe _deep_. Men had a smell, all kinds of them, and she had always been partial to the rougher types, unpolished, unworried over appearance so long as they were clean and sort of neat. (Not that she minded a man making effort, it was just that in her life, so many putting forth effort were doing it solely because they wanted to _earn_ her attention. Making themselves pretty baubles like the treasures they bestowed upon her, in the end, all expecting to have paid enough attention, coin, and valor to gain access to her body. None of them got anywhere. But the men she did take for lovers, if they decided to at some point put forth effort, it was only because they wanted to, and wanted to show that they were more than muscle, sinew, and weapons’ skills...that they wished her to find them attractive too. That was very, very different.) Caspian made efforts to be clean, and to come to her if he was injured (which was a promise she extracted from him because back then, she hadn’t been certain he would get himself seen to otherwise.) Once or twice, she had seen him fidgeting with some shirt or clothes or whatnot that had been gained during raids or made by Narnians, like he was trying to be more presentable when she was in view. 

But this, oh this, that particular smell, the smell of a man, it was a raw thing. And Caspian’s scent was mellow in spite of the rough edges of it. There was a hint of sassafras and dwarf made whiskey from the roots he chewed to brush his teeth (and she was grateful he had pointed them out to her as they were tasty as well as effective) as well as the alcohol he sipped and shared out time to time. Susan could only guess he used splashes of it in place of aftershave...but oh, he smelled divine. A rather thorough and unabashed lick over muscle and the berry brown nipple - which resulted in a pleasant shiver on his part - said he tasted as good as he smelled, and as good as his mouth had been.

Mumbled, half-hearted sounding apology, as his face was in her hair, nuzzling, and his manhood was hard and pressing against her belly, “If I had thought ahead a bit or had a gift of foresight, I would have taken a better bath. Sorry...”

“MmnI’m not,” tugging at his brais finally, shoving them away so they fell down at his ankles - or she hoped they got down that far, would be awkward in a few minutes if they hadn’t managed to be kicked away. Tipping her head back for a quick kiss before stepping free of his embrace, Susan gave a shimmy to shake ‘all the good parts’ for his enjoyment, she worked her own soft linen brais free, held them up for him to see, and she wasn’t very surprised when he accepted them and buried his nose in the sodden crotch, his colour going high, hot and his eyes could have flashed red they were so much like lit coals. Knowing he was a little distracted by that, Susan dropped to her knees, ‘checking’ his own, but mostly to get a good lick in. “Mmmn, definitely not sorry.” Taking hold of his manhood for a second, longer more thorough lick, ending in a short, lip popping suckle, “You taste like man and hunger and heat - it would have been terribly awful disappointing if you’d scrubbed all that away.”

A breathy, groaning growl, her brais fluttering to the side, hands gently - very gently, surprising her, she hated hands on her head during this but knew that would always happen, except his touch was so very light, a resting of fingers, nothing more, a butterfly kiss lacking any pressure - touched her head. Sounding a little put out with himself rather than her, “S-susan, that is not the way to prolong things...”

Chuckling, a playful flick of her tongue over the unveiled purple tinted tip as she rocked back on her heels, hands grabbing his hips and tugging him back down, “I need you and want you, but before we get to the main course, the edge should get taken off - otherwise it may end a little sooner than we’d both like. By the time we need that part of you ready, it’ll be a little more patient once the pressure’s off.” Fingers rolling and plying his heavy sac, “Besides, I want to taste you as yourself before you taste like both of us...”

Caspian’s rare, good natured laugh was cut short by her mouth reclaiming him, and she watched him. An unrestrained groan really worked free of him then, the sensation of his foreskin slipping and tickling her tongue as she pushed at it, licking and sucking it, rolling her tongue just so to pull it over his tip before pushing it back down, and one of his calloused palms scraped slowly over her back, his other hand reaching behind him to brace himself. He was fighting it, Susan liked that, liked watching his face contort, his stomach tense, and his hips struggle both to surge forward and to remain in place. The taste of his skin, the smell of him, thicker, muskier, pungent, though she could also taste hints of soap as he’d been thorough, it was just that confinement, arousal, and a few hours between that washing had allowed his body to refresh that musk of his. But it was clean and fresh, new. Lucy once asked what a man tasted like, and Susan hadn’t really had an answer other than ‘good’ and ‘male’, though she did make it clear that if any of that was going on, it was best to also be followed up with ‘clean’, because otherwise, there wouldn’t have been a continuation to the performance, and never a repeat either. For Caspian, with how she’d sprung it on him, or, more aptly, finally cornered him and used entirely plain speech, small words and everything, she would have made an exception... 

It wasn’t a necessary exception, and she hungrily went about exploring the thickening curve of cock he’d been gifted with. Long, not too long, curved, not too curved, thick but not a fattened barrel, it thickened and flattened in the middle a little, and she couldn’t get quite that much in her mouth, but didn’t mind. Caspian didn’t seem to think it mattered much either. Susan was all about slipping her lips along each side, little grasping nips with them, or pulsing suckles here and there, from tip to root, and she delighted in the way the ridge curled and lifted from his shaft in a firm tissue line that gave under the pressure of her pressing tongue when she held him steady. Caspian fought it, and Susan suspected, hoped, that it wasn’t just because he was trying to show he had lasting power (but wouldn’t put it past him) but rather because he wanted to _feel_ as much as possible, as long as possible. (Though if Caspian was seeking to prove his endurance, it was as strong as his fortitude in other scenarios, made up of lifelong dogged determination.) More than the taste and feel of him, Susan memorized the way his face contorted as he battled his pleasure, to feel it, to enjoy it, to show it. Oh she wanted every flex, every flinch, panting gasp, the way his head fell back and his Adam’s apple strained and jutted from the skin of his throat in a hungry gasp as she rubbed and pushed and pressed with her index and middle fingers just behind his testicals at the swath of humped out flesh there, aware of just what that little spot could do to a man. (And if she’d thought this through a bit more, she would have gotten a dollop of unguent to really show him a good time with a finger on that inside spot trapped and rubbed between her thumb outside... There was always next time, as many next times as they could wrest from fate.)

There was a sound a cock made just before it came. A very odd sound. Almost a straining click - Susan knew that if she’d ever told anyone that, they’d no doubt look at her like she’d lost her head. But it was true! Maybe it was just the quality of her hearing, but it was that funny little straining clicking rush that increased in frequency the closer a man got, that let her know she needed to pull away far more reliably than a man could be counted upon to indicate. Susan hadn’t ever particularly liked the taste of semen, a little dash of it here or there in pearls of precum was a nice counterpoint, but this time Susan made herself stay, the underside of her tongue fluttering over his tip in hopes of not choking on the force of his ejaculate. (Because oh my was he going to erupt if how pent up and shaking he was was any kind of indicator.) It was hard to stay, in the past, the few times Susan had made herself remain, it had left her no longer in the mood and grossed out by the thick, bitter, bleachy taste, and sort of after smell in her sinuses that could only be qualified as mildew as grotesque as that sounded, that each of those occasions she had hoped would be different, that she had hoped would be salty and musky, and was always disappointed. 

Fingers on her shoulder, broken words, “Sus-susan, cann-not hold -” and she realized he was trying to urge her away, but he didn’t push, gave her the choice to remain or go, and that, right there, made her groan eagerly, her hand squeezing his girth, only to be covered by his own, the motion jerky as he lost his battle, the strength in his grip punishing enough that she heard his knuckles pop, face contorted in apparent blissful agony - and then salt.

Salt. Salt and musk and bitter pong, not overwhelming, and most importantly not mothballs and bleach. Salt, thick salt and it came with force, barely blunted by her tongue trying to slow the tide. And it was a tide, a flow, and Susan sucked and licked hungrily, watching him as his chest heaved, and her thighs were damp. There was perspiration already beading on her, for though it felt like forever and had only been a few moments, and though it wasn’t strenuous, Susan’s body was on fire as though they had been rolling about, kissing, petting, licking and tasting for quite some time. Caspian tasted of earth and sea, and Susan only reluctantly relinquished her mouth’s hold on him. 

Wrung out, the Telmarine’s shaking arms were reaching for her, hands smoothing all over whatever he could reach of her body, and then came the hand in her hair, the fingers cradling and caressing her skull - and he kissed her. Susan flinched more in surprise from that than anything else that had happened. No man kissed her after that - even when there hadn’t been even a _hint_ of release in her mouth! They had all shied away, making faces if she’d used her mouth on them at all. Caspian was crushing her, his rangy body rising up to his knees, while he tilted her backwards, low noises vibrating through her from his groans as his tongue plundered her mouth, seeking out the evidence of his own pleasure. And Susan needed him right then, needed him in her body so badly, but they had to wait, oh how she detested that idea right then and there. 

Hands scrabbling over his shoulders, back, arms and in his hair, Susan moaned, seeking to get closer, to draw him down or push him back, she really didn’t care, her head was swimming as her senses drowned. She hadn’t meant to be passive at all, no, Susan was impatient, hungry, desperate for him, but she was on her back and Caspian broke free which took a few moments to register in her fogged brain, hands still trying to tug and grasp, her lips puckered up around her simultaneously opened mouth. Feeling drunk at the intensity - by Mane and Breath and Roar and by the Ruler of _all_ Narnia - Susan hadn’t ever been kissed like _that_ before. Experience, emotion, the situation, the implication and willingness - who cared what caused it? Susan certainly didn’t.

Blinking her eyes open at him quizzically, Susan’s brows rose as she saw his amused smile. Oh now that was a very nice look on him. A bit dumbly, “What?” 

His gaze was on her face but it swept slowly - very slowly, along with a hand from her cheek, down her breasts, to her belly, then grasped her hip - before he looked back up at her. “What indeed? There are many answers. Like the fact I wished to see you from the front instead of just your lush back, followed directly by the fact that I never considered a blush could go quite so far.” The other side of his mouth joined the first in the upwards tilt, “Also, I was unaware that one’s eyes could cross when being kissed - I find it enchanting.” Caspian leaned in closer, fingers slipping from her hip to pet the thatch at the apex of her sex, “Which I find most things you do, though mostly I find things you do, makes me wish to be close enough to kiss, to listen to your heart, to catch the smell of beeswax from your bowstring, or the flower water you use to wash your hair, but right now...”

Susan spread her legs, guiding his hand lower to her sex which was hot and aching, and she wasn’t just damp, moist, or wet, she couldn’t even qualify what she felt as she shifted and her labia rubbed against itself... Flooded, yes, flooded, that would do. “But right now?” Susan prompted as those deft fingertips tested and stroked along her clit, making her shudder, hips rising from the pallet.

“Now I wish to see, hear, feel, and,” leaning closer, breathing deep, and she was so wet that she filled the air Caspian was pulling into his lungs, “smell you melt.” Long fingers slipped and slid over her, spreading her lips further, and Susan sighed, stroking his arm as it stretched down her body, but there was a pause as he tested her entrance, brows furrowing. Then he was scooting down and Susan giggled at his eagerness expecting his inspection, but she gasped, startled as resistance met a gently probing digit, his dark gaze both on her sex and her expression. “Susan, you are...”

Propping up on an elbow, Susan reached down double-checking, then swore in a very, very unbecoming fashion, “Fucking bloody hell!” Sitting up, Susan tried to scoot to Caspian’s med kit, but his hands were holding her hips imobile, “Dammit! Oh for crying out loud! I need a mirror to see that! Why can’t I be as flexible as I used to be? Oh I _knew_ I shouldn’t have stopped doing the Calormene stretches!”

Head cocked, confused and a little warily amused along with sheepish, Caspian announced concisely since he had the better view, “Susan, your body is...virginally intact.”

Scowling, Susan flopped back, legs on either side of him kicking up and down as she beat the pallet with fists for good measure. “I rode so many Horses back when, that when I finally did find someone I felt like laying with, this was a total nonissue!” Worried he would hesitate or halt, or feel like he had to do something weird and honourable or-or _whatever_ because people got all strange about hymens and virginity for some daft reason, Susan gave him a look, between petulant command and abject entreaty, “We are so not stopping. It changes nothing. I need you Caspian, please don’t deny me.”

Palms spread and stroked over her belly hips and thighs. “Who said I was going to stop? Unless you wished me to, I have no intention of doing so,” said with a philosophical shrug. Then he reiterated, “Susan Pevensie, that is who I am with, and whatever she - meaning yourself, lady - wishes to share with me, is all I could ever dare to hope for in the midst of the most rare and unlikely dream. So, it is a bit of an obstacle, but nothing so bad.”

Instantly comforted, Susan sat up, reaching for him, wanting to feel his broad shoulders, “So we’ll just push through, agreed.”

 _That_ got a negative reaction, a frown, one of those big scowly ones he never directed at her before until now.

“No, no pushing straight through,” his tone firm and brooking no argument. “If you are unable to walk in the morning, it would be because we had been dedicated to exhausting one another, _not_ because we rushed through breaking flesh and forcing the joining we both desire so badly in such an incautious manner.” Chin tucking down to look at her from under his brows, “Our hunger may be wild, but in _this_ we shall _both_ take care to minimize discomfort. Because after we doze off and reawaken, I will want you again, and repeat this until we are bored, tired, or someone is fool enough to interrupt to say our presences are required elsewhere. And I cannot guarantee that the first one who attempts such a summons will remain in full possession of all their limbs.” Caspian sat back and it was he who reached for his kit, his gaze no longer on her to focus on the endless things he had made, tone a little dismissive while also reassuring, “I know what to do with virgins to make it best and easiest on them, as I have quite a bit of experience in seeing to such needs.”

Susan squirmed up onto her knees, draping herself over him, curious. She knew a lot about Caspian, probably more than most any other single individual, because he chose to actually reveal himself to her. _His Professor, he would know more. But does the Professor know what goes on **inside** Caspian’s head?_ Susan had a feeling that as much as Caspian clearly adored his instructor, loved him deeply as a surrogate parent even, that what went on in that mind was something never shared with another being until herself. It was something in how Caspian would whisper, mutter, or mumble his admissions to her during times she would sit with him until he slept. (Susan almost always left afterwards, there was work to do, and curling up with him, as much as she had found herself longing to do so, had seemed too much like pressing upon him when he didn’t seem ready. In the mornings he would act as though she hadn’t been there at all... Ever so foolishly she had given him so much space, Susan had found herself praying they had _more time_... That thought needed to go elsewhere, she would make time with him, make as much time as they had, that they could sneak away, or even just to be near if they had things to be done.) 

Chin atop her laced together hands which rested on one of his shoulders, while the arm she was closest to had wrapped around her, his other still busily searching, touching, a frown on his face before such and so item was discarded as not correct. “Virgins? You make it sound like a **career** choice or preference. Like it’s your norm.”

One handed a vial was uncorked, sniffed, then the dexterous thumb had the cork back in, the glass set aside, his answer absentminded, “Within a two hour ride upon Destrier’s back, there are quite a few pubs, inns, and places that say they are alehouses, but are really just brothels with alcoholic beverages and a bit of daytime lunch business to lessen the Telmarine wives’ aggravation and calls of moral bankruptcy.” An interesting tidbit of information, Caspian really didn’t seem the type to pay for a woman’s touch or company. “Soldiers, guards, and even the regular peasant, craftsman, or merchant - to say nothing of the aristocracy, but they tend to have particular courtesans on hand rather than establishments frequented - are not always nice. They often do not even mean their coarseness to do harm when taking pleasure. So, the places I frequented, word got around to the women, that the uninitiated had a safe person to start off their work with who would take the time to ensure it was as pleasant as possible.” He let loose a soft grunt, gaze travelling back to her, a shrug shifting them both, “The argument could be that after having a courteous partner, that discourteous ones seem worse in comparison. But it can also be argued that the first time being good, lets them know what to watch for for a shared pleasure rather than staring at a ceiling, unfeeling and impatient for it to be over. I have debated both, and my feelings on the subject vacillate back and forth frequently.”

Softly, Susan tucked a strand of his dark hair behind his ear, “Or you could have given them a precious memory and shared a joy in what their body could truly do. That’s priceless you know. Even if most afterwards are just business, dry and waiting for it to be over, they’ll have a memory to retreat to if it helps, or the knowledge to block out the tedium. It’s a gift of a weapon or shield - it’s up to the receiver how they’ll use it, or if they’ll use it at all.”

“Or if they will drop it and harm themselves?” brow up. “If it is one who finds it to be no gift or favour to them, and instead it is a memory that causes pain when compared to their present predicaments? What then?”

“Still, a gift of a weapon that they can choose how to use, Caspian,” Susan leaned in, kissing his cheek. “It’s a pure thing, a kind thing, to give to another person. You defend them and take care of them when they seek you out for any form of protection when they don’t know where else to turn.” Head cocking, Susan mused, surprised a little by the admission, “It’s probably one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard of. You can’t save them, maybe one or two, but you can give them the tools to save themselves. That’s very powerful, Caspian, and absolutely one of the most loving things a person can do for a somewhat random person.” Seriously, “You’ve a very grand heart, Caspian. It’s filled with not just longing or duty, but with a love of your people, a very deep one, that extends down to the most vulnerable of your world...”

She didn’t add that it was a protection he was extending to them, when he’d received precious little. Instead Susan kissed his cheek again, a sweet thing, then another on his temple, then his neck, his shoulder... Caspian had frozen to stillness as she lay one after another carefully over the tattered lace of switching scars that graced his back. It had been one of her urges upon seeing them, to kiss the pain they represented away, futile as that was. But she could give care to them, thanking him in place of the many girls who had gone to him, lost, aware that they must learn to do their possibly wanted, probably unwanted, but only remaining decision sort of job... With little other hope they turned to him. Because he would give what tools and protections he could, so that they weren’t as defenseless as he so often was made to be. 

Kissing her way back up from the center of his back where she’d had to stop unless she was to push him down to his belly to get full access, Susan pet his head with one hand, the other rubbing circles over his triphammering heart. Audible swallows, his eyes were closed, his breathing unsteady, and Susan kissed his temple again, going up to her knees to do so, making sure to remain pressed close to him the whole time. 

“Never, ever doubt my belief in you being a good man, Caspian. Right on down from the very top of your head, to your toenails. You’re a worthy person no matter what you think, or believe due to your origins, there’s darkness in you, but that’s in everyone. It’s that even with that feeling, that aspect, you still are yourself and good to people who look to you for help when it’d be so much easier to leave them to deal with their own problems... That love is only made stronger by the contrast of the dark.” Every word was whispered right into his ear, because they were delicate, precious words, a secret and a prayer, something...holy almost, and shouldn’t be shouted loudly, brazenly, not until they had worked their magic. Sometimes it took something quiet to break through all the loud things. “I’ll always believe in you, Caspian. I’ll believe in this man here with me, and all the other mantles you wear elsewhere. If you can’t find stability and certainty in anything else - you have two you can always count upon. My belief in you, and Aslan’s Love of you. For it’s His Will that my horn brought us to you, because He knew you needed help, and He loves all of His children. All of us. Even those who don’t look to Him or aren’t ready to. But He will _always_ love you, and I will _always_ believe in you and trust you.”

It was a watery sounding laughing gasp, though she saw no definitive tears, just a bit of moisture clumping his lashes, and Caspian couldn’t look at her, but his hand was pressing hers tighter to his heart. “What was it you said? That my words would make you weepy? I think I know how that feels now, Susan. Very odd, very novel, very strange...” Another swallow, trembling fingers released her hand and went for another, larger bottle that was brought out from extremely deep in his med kit that sloshed sluggishly, possibly it was an oil. “Sorry, I am...I do not know how to handle that. Apologies, Susan.”

Snorting, nose crinkling, “You don’t have to respond to it in any way. I just wanted you to be told the truth. You deserve the truth, at least, the truth that I see. Whether anyone else agrees with me or not, I can’t say. But if they _don’t_ well they’re wrong, and should go ten rounds with Edmund when he’s feeling ornery, followed up by a few with Peter.”

“What if it is they who feel that way?” Caspian was reaching for humour again, but it wasn’t exactly making it all light, just...deflecting a little bit of the weight. 

Susan could understand that, he made her feel all funny and tongue-tied, lost, and once or twice, Susan was rather certain Caspian had, in the past, left her feeling utterly silly. Mostly because Lucy had caught her staring, and that wasn’t something Susan did. Or, at least, not Queen Susan. Queen Susan didn’t _need_ to stare at men, even comely ones she liked. If she wished to look, she could ask them to come somewhere private, and she’d get her fill one way or another. And if they declined, then she’d move on, as she wanted willing and happy lovers. But Caspian...Susan couldn’t really help staring at him so much... And Lucy had noticed and teased her, which left very reasonable Susan that was Queen Susan and also Older, Reasonable, Responsible Sister Susan, feeling like a silly little girl upon realizing not only boys not disgusting, but that men were utterly delectable. 

“Then they can go ten rounds with _me_ , and I fight _dirty_ ,” her reply playfully arch, taking a bit of pity on him, besides, she wanted to hear him laugh maybe, it was one of her favourite sounds already. “I can’t wield a blade worth a damn, but I know _all_ of the footwork for all three of you. And I had a Red Dwarf as my self-defense instructor back when, thank you kindly. So, go ahead, and enter a ten round go with me with weapons, chances are, I’ll have anyone on the ground slapping it in pain and ready to throw in the towel by the third one. Even Edmund. Daft boy thinks _he’s_ the only one with a thousand and one nasty tricks up his sleeve - ha!”

Not quite a laugh, but it was a headshaking chuckle, “Then it would behoove me to not think such thoughts of myself, for you would have me on the ground in a five count, utterly at your mercy. And that would be before you even applied any dwarven learned rude tricks.” He glanced at her, looking better, more composed - oh it was eerie sometimes how quickly he could do that, and it made Susan feel a little sad life made sure that he was so good at it. “I thought I had some of the tingling balm, but...ah...” Caspian coughed a little, turning pink, “I seem to have used most of it myself without having made any more... So, we are stuck with numbing agents - ill advised, as then we would both feel not much of anything, where is the fun in that? - intensifiers that I use to warm pained muscles, but again, ill advised. It would bring much blood in the tissue to the foreground, creating a more delicate wound, as well as possibly throwing in a burning sensation depending upon how your flesh reacts, or, make it all hurt more. Or worse, all the above. I could tend it surgically -” Susan winced and he gave a sideways nod of agreement, “which I only recommend if all else fails. But I do not think either of us wish me to come anywhere near your genitals with a sharp object, honestly, I do not think my nerves would handle it unless we exhausted every other possibility.”

Reaching out, she touched the bottle, “And this?”

“Massage to encourage stretching, thinning and possible breaking of the veil before attempting any joining,” the bottle was inspected, and Susan was glad when he opened it for her to smell - just a bit of olive oil, not unpleasant, not too strong either. 

Galma used to do a good business with Narnia over the great island’s diverse olive crops.

“Caspian, I’m utterly flooded, it’s like the River Thames down there, you could float a barge on me,” Susan laughed, and her naughty statement garnered a snicker from him, not that he knew the Thames, ‘river’ was clear enough. “I don’t think oil would be all that necessary after that...”

“Dries slower, spreads easier,” a shake of his head. “Provides better long term slip. Also helps reduce chafing, so I have been told in the past.”

“What do you use it for?” just liking the funny intimacy they had created for themselves, even though a good portion of Susan demanded ‘Caspian Right This Instant, Dammit!’ Most of her however, was tingling head to toe, listening to him, watching him, and knowing he was sharing something secret with her only, while he also was listening to her, watching her... (Not that his watching was anything new...)

“Aches, pains, foot rubs,” a foot thumped in demonstration. “A prince’s life may be very active, and the castle may be large, requiring enormous amounts of time devoted to moving around by shank’s mare, but there is less rest and far, far more walking entailed in war, scouting, and just moving around the How, than my pampered body has ever had to deal with before. So, I find that I am horribly footsore, best to deal with it when I can, otherwise I am told I become unpleasant, and someone makes comments about something called knickers being in a twist, bees in bonnets, dancing upon an edge, so on, so forth.”

 _That_ explained the occasional waspishness. 

Leaning back on her hands, a foot slipping into his lap to rub the inside of his opposite thigh, “Sometime we’ll do each other then.” Clarifying as Susan watched Caspian already twisting to take her foot, “Some _other_ time. I’m relaxed and needy and we’ve been dancing around each other for _ages_ , do you have any idea how bedevilling you are, Caspian? I’ve never been so aroused and vexed and thwarted by a man all rolled into one, singular individual - yes, separately a man here or there, but all at once? And with my siblings always about, it makes for a difficult time for a girl to find some time with her hand. _And_ ,” holding up her particularly favourite hand, wiggling the fingers back and forth at him, “there’s days my poor hand got all cramped from practice with the bow, or actually using it, and then when I sought to relieve my ever so painful tensions...oh my evil fingers just locked right up short of the finish. So not fair, do you hear me, Caspian?”

And the laugh that Susan had never realized she needed in her life until she heard it, rang out, long, warm, deep and loud, moving Caspian’s body until he was scooting to arch over her, a hand beside her hip, his thumb rubbing, while the other drizzled a goodly amount of oil from her breasts down her belly and then all over her crotch. “My hands do not cramp, never fear. The exercises I do for half an hour morning and night, then often as I fall asleep, make sure of it. And the crushed fruits, balls, or other various resistant things that fit in my hands that I tend to squeeze, ensure on up through my forearm is all in working order, strong, and most importantly to you - tireless, free of cramps.”

Breathy as the glass clinked, cap secured and set aside to safety, Susan pressed her chest into his hand firmly, “It’s such a silly exercise - I thought you were going to eat all those apples, instead you just squished them into exploding mush all over your hands.” Licking her lips, Susan sighed, lashes fluttering, twisting into his certain touch, wishing that there wasn’t a pesky hymen in the way, but this caution wasn’t bad either - didn’t make her feel like he thought she was some dainty, breakable thing. Instead, it just felt like care. That was plenty good and acceptable. “Now, while _I_ would have been all too happy to lick your hands clean rather than waste good apples, I don’t think anyone else would have appreciated the display.”

“Quite true, and I may have fled,” his reply rueful. “I am still unconvinced that your brothers will refrain from putting at least one of my heads on a platter to sit beside eyes and my hands, probably my tongue too, while howling for my blood, but even if that was the consequence, as things stand, I will be all too happy to take such a daring risk.”

They talked. Susan found herself relaxing into the back and forth, comforted by the meandering trains of their thoughts, while his hands touched her with surety, familiarity, exploration, and gentleness. Yet every time her gaze focused on him, as calm and steady as Caspian’s touch was, his entire body was straining for her, every line of his form vibrating with intense desire. He was a hound kept on a very short leash, too well behaved to dance as it strained, but the sight/smell/sound of prey/hunt was an irresistible drive to that hound, and the leash would only hold for so very long. _Or more like the holder of the leash will reach down and release the catch, and the hound’ll spring forward in an explosion of action._ It took a _great deal_ of control to lay back and not respond to his presence with eager touches of her own. Susan was _not_ , and never had been, a passive bed partner. _What was it that American actress said? Mae West? Sex is like bridge, it’s best when you’ve got a good partner, otherwise, you’d better have a good hand?_ Susan enjoyed sex, be it a good and laughter ridden romp, a roll about, or hard, deep, fast and eager, filled with hungry urgency. It’s not that Susan hadn’t cared about - some of them very deeply - the men she’d taken to bed...but none of them had made her want to make love. It seemed too clingy, too entangled, and it implied things she hadn’t felt. Oh, one or two of them she knew were making love _to_ her, but even though she gave what she could, Susan hadn’t been able to reciprocate their tenderness the way they wanted. Caspian...she could make love to or with Caspian, in fact, Susan fully intended to try... But not the first time, first time she wanted to grant Caspian the thing he’d asked for: Herself, all of her, to just see Susan. 

Strange that while, in her head, she saw herself in her late twenties, the body she was going to share with Caspian was young, oh so terribly young. Young and virginal, even though Susan knew its lines, its preferences, how to move, how to do a lot of really wicked things with herself or to herself or to another. Caspian was getting her present youthful body’s first time - maybe that was special? But if ( _Oh, foolhardy Susan, you know it’s **when** , but please, please don’t think about that. Well, unless we all die, then we may very well be buggered and no going back. Which is fine, it means no more study halls and little boys panting after me who won’t just sod off already_) she ever returned to London, all of the things her body had shared with Caspian, all evidence of those acts...would be gone. Yet...that was actually what Susan decided she wanted promptly as she arched, overtaken by a full body wash of orgasmic sensation from whatever that massage he was doing to her lady bits was. Because the evidence of what she and Caspian shared wasn’t for anyone else’s knowledge. 

“Oh _god_ , Aslan, Hera, who, umn, _Caspian_ ,” babbling like a loon, Susan’s body rolled upwards then thumped down and back up again, as Caspian’s hands continued, relentless in their placidly measured, unhurried movements. “ _Whatever you’re doing, do it again_!”

Earthy chuckles, “The yoni, a woman’s sacred space, a place where life is sparked, and enters the world. Touch it just right, and -” a slick pinky slid into her bottom in a slow, gentle glide, smooth in its intrusion, while his other hand rubbed deeply over her vulva, and was that a _thumb_ rubbing the roof of her canal all at once? And Susan was babbling again, barely able to make out the words, but Caspian’s voice was beautiful and it provided safety and anchoring as her whole body was consumed by her second, then third release, until she felt boneless, “you then have the world in your hands. So the saying goes. Interestingly, it is a midwife’s trick I picked up, its purpose is to prepare and relax the mother, in spite of her body being unkind. The midwife reminds the body that there is a fine line between pain and pleasure, and that when combined in the bringing forth of new life, a mother should have the ecstasy of both, as the new babe is life and a breathing representation of joy. So, the birth is not traumatic for the new - or repeat - mother, and the babe enters the world with a sense of its mother’s wellbeing, relief, and joy in the full scope of delivery.” A smile hove into view as Caspian hunched over her, his hands still so wickedly busy, and Susan tried to reach up to touch his face, but her whole body was a sodden dishtowel and refused to obey this very vital imperative she gave it. Impertinent and annoying body... But Susan was rather certain fleetingly she could forgive it as a broken moan was torn from her throat. “I take it you like what I learned?”

Moaning the words, her legs flopping as she tried to shift, failing utterly at it too, drat, “Oh, you’re...you’re good. Where...why...?” Mumbling as the cascade of waves ebbed, “Why’d you go out so much? To pick up the skill...did you go out quite a lot?”

One hand pulled free and a different bottle was snagged, clay, and familiar, then he was taking a quick drink of what she knew was whiskey. A curious tilt of his head, and she nodded, mouth opening, and a thin, slow trickle poured into her mouth as he finally answered. “When I was thirteen, since I had not pressed myself upon anyone, some of the finer and more experienced courtesans were called to see if I could be tempted. Being young, adolescent, and fairly healthy, the answer was yes, I could, did and was. That went on for a time, and they taught me...” His lips twisted into a lopsided grin, “They taught me a very great deal and I was a very apt student, much to their varying surprise. Apparently most young men avail themselves of the wonders, but none of the learning, while the learning is often the wonder for me. _Especially_ when I managed to make one, who was quite difficult to impress, let alone wear out, both unable to speak, and unable to do anything more than lay there, panting, quite happy...and then did it all to her again. She actually retired after that, settled down with a few other women in a nice happy little cottage and mixed relationship, wrote me a very lovely letter, too, saying that it was good she went out on a high note. That training women was difficult, but rewarding, and that training youths such as myself, had always been tedious, and that she was quite pleased that I appeared to receive as much in the giving, as she did in teaching her favourite pupils.” Susan tried to laugh a little, she could almost imagine the poor woman, all wrung out with pleasure while Caspian sat there patiently cheeky and waiting until his moment to pounce - _again_. “But, she was a rare one in that she sought no political favour, no machinations, no one was using her to do this or that thing, or foment trouble... So, there were two of my maidservents who were a little older than myself, who had always been sweet to me. I chose those, because they were ones who made interest known, rather than some of the other young women, since I did not wish to make an advance and risk them feeling they were unable to turn me down.”

Susan sighed as she got a hand to cooperate, making it rise up to cup Caspian’s cheek, and gave him a likely very drunken smile (and no, that wasn’t the whiskey even though it did burn a very pleasant internal trail through her belly), “Oh, darling, if you were _anyone else,_ I’d say you were stretching the truth, then promptly follow it up with a complaint about you being too perfect. It’s quite aggravating you know, but since the others don’t get to see you as anything other than a leader, friend, or what have you...I’m very, very much not going to complain if you happen to be so perfect.” Humming, nodding sagely, “Even if it’s utterly unfair and a bit unnatural. _I_ at least know you’ve got plenty of flaws, beautiful, beautiful, dark little flaws and crevasses, and dips and vallies and - _ohgodthat’snotfairhowdoyoudothatpleasemore_?!”

Her rambling release was interrupted by a burning discomfort from her sex, and it wasn’t a thumb having managed to work on the small give and gap of her maidenhead. Nor was it fingers wriggling and stroking. At first, yes, it was fingers opening and closing, rather quite distracting, and Susan tried to lift her head enough to watch, but Caspian was rather well blocking the view. Oh it was terrible, really it was, that Cair Paravel was gone, but if her large, full length mirror on the tilts, that was segmented into five different panels like a privacy screen... Oh if that had still been around, yes, yes, she would have been quite happy to see what she and Caspian could come up with. Then there was something cold, icy cold, not body warmed, not fingers, something a little metallic, and unyielding, and as the sensitivity and sort of oddly desensitized bits of her vaginal entrance began to figure out what she was feeling after long gliding, rocking thrusts, Caspian pulled the object away. 

Lips puckering as her gaze focused on Caspian setting his sheathed dagger off to the side, “Thought no sharp things near me?”

“My medkit was stolen by Cats and Eagles in concert, as I had not thought to flee the castle with it being that I was in a hurry.” A roundabout explanation, but Susan’s head was a little fuzzy and the world was perfect, or would be if only her limbs were a somewhat more cooperative so she could retaliate and make Caspian feel as good as he made her feel. ( _Really_ this laying back and receiving the first time was driving Susan batty! She would have to make up for it as soon as her body stopped being so difficult.) “However, considering the dire situation, I did not think to request they also fetch the kit of devices I have accumulated over the years. The hilt was an in between size and smooth...” Caspian paused, concerned, “It did not frighten or hurt you, did it?”

Humming, squirming, her hips managing to thrust against his hand, “Neither, Caspian.” Susan said with conviction, or as much of it as she could muster presently - after a long moan as Caspian’s fingers found somewhere _very_ deep near the mouth of her womb that wasn’t any of the typical spots she was accustomed to, “Caspian, I trust you, it’s fine.” Sighing, replete (and really, how was she supposed to have sex after this if she was still a puddle of melty pudding? It’d be too much good all at once. Maybe a nap could be had so she could doze off the effects.) “Talk to me more, Caspian. About maids.”

Caspian’s hands began to slow, not from any sort of obvious fatigue, but Susan was probably about ready to poof and float away into the aether, so she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. “Not much to tell there. It was satisfying enough...but just as I had realized with the courtesans and the need to avoid politics, I learned a lesson from the maids in all too short a time, a much shorter one actually. And more than just a single lesson.” A deeper sigh, one with a hint of old sadness or disappointment, and there came the repeated phrase, “Telmarines are not known for their kindness. It is ugly and harsh, and since I would not allow myself to be manipulated by beautiful women operating under orders from special interests, what I gained relief from, found a measure of safety in, was targeted to show me how my friendship, acquaintance, or even politeness to those operating in my day to day life...how those individuals could be harmed. But, it was from both girls that I had learned about how a sister, a cousin, a friend, had to choose between going in unprepared without knowledge and likely virgin, or very inexperienced, to a profession for whatever reason, that could very well ruin their desire for the flesh...or the choice of someone who would try to ease them in. Ylana, the one who paid the price for her friendship and sharing with me, had once mentioned, probably planned and nervous to dare asking a favour, that her cousin was to be wed to an older man who she knew was not...considerate.” As he spoke, there were slowing aftershocks, and while he didn’t stop touching her, the pace there also gradually changed as well, soothing, easing, calming. A bit like she imagined her playing with his hair and massaging his head or rubbing his back was for him - easy sensuality and care, without demand, hope, or expectation. “She asked if I would be willing to at least give her one experience and an idea of what a wedding night should be. It sounded easy enough, so I said yes. Such a small favour, and one I would gain from as well? Afterwards, I gave her a little fish bladder ready to be filled with blood so that the lack of virginity would not be noticed if she felt it was important.” 

Susan got her hands to work fully, to reach down and tangle with Caspian’s oil and juice slicked ones, providing her care. “I’m sorry you lost your friend, that it was such a terrible situation.”

Hitched shoulders, “Even while partaking of the maids’ kindness that they could give to a young man in my position, every other night I began to go out, which taught me that I was not only not the norm, but that they considered what I did, a gift. Some, later, have reviled me, or come forward upon visits to those places, for another experience, then screamed or cried afterwards because they had wanted to believe their memories false, coated in sugar, rather than fact.” Unlike other times Caspian had revealed himself at length, there was no shadows to hide in, no darkness, or limited light. And unlike those other times, he was neither turned away from her in that dark, nor was he hiding his face in her lap or her bosom...and her horn hadn’t been picked up once. Yet his hands continued smoothing over her, just as they would her horn. “But for all of them, they originally considered it a gift, thanked me, or pleaded with me to tend to another, or another would step forward, fear and desperation or hope in her eyes... It would be a grand lie if I said I did not enjoy it, if I said I sought it out for selfless reasons.”

Squeezing his hands, Susan wondered over it all, and her mouth didn’t check with her head, “Ed and I were considered on the lusty side, but I think you take the cake. Every day? Maids when you did not leave the castle, and one every other night...?”

Correcting, “Several every other night. I would not return until the wolf hour of four hours past midnight, and two before dawn. It is when people sleep the deepest. Sometimes, due to distance, this meant it was dawn when I arrived, but only servants are awake at that hour. Servants and guards. Training does not start until the resident nobles are awake - Telmarine nobles are not known for their tolerance either, issues with kindness notwithstanding. My comings and goings were not remarked upon to me, and if the servants decided to report such behaviour, I never heard of it one way or another. If not, then my comings and goings were never noticed by anyone who could cause issues.” Lips pursed, “So, several every other night, the virgin, the inexperienced, sometimes...the very scarred and damaged, who had no idea what a body used without cruelty was like.” Caspian shook his head, and all but one candle was snuffed - Susan whined her disappointment, but he reassured her, “Shh, sometimes a light doze helps. When you awaken, you will be your usual vivacious, vixenish and hungry self, and I will have gone nowhere.” 

The last bits were there then, put gently and arrayed for her in the odd puzzle of his behaviour. And it made sense, a terrible, unjust sense. It also made Susan want to gather Caspian up and keep him safe from every evil, no matter she was one person, one very imperfect person. But she couldn’t do that, and he hadn’t asked her to even try to - he had asked her for herself...and he had already made the offer of all he was, yet Susan had also asked to see him, to _really_ see and know him and for him to _let_ her. Give and take.

“Until I became sexually active, Susan,” voice soft as Caspian shifted to lay beside her, his head propped up on his fist, “my options in all things were limited. Mother dead by the time I was five, Nana sent away when I was seven, and I am left only to presume she is dead, this left me with the Professor, and my arms and tactics instructor, General Glozelle, as my only consistent human presence that bore me no ill will. Aunt Prunaprismia did much as she could, but like me, she was also constrained by expectations, and the decisions of my uncle. If she showed me too much care, Miraz would have taken it from my hide...” Mumbling, “Taken more from it.” Voice rising, but still steady and low, and Susan wanted to fall asleep to it, yet she also longed to hear everything, wishing she had eternity to plumb and delve into the depths Caspian kept hidden from others, “So, she was cautious, as was I, for I feared he may do her harm if he thought it would control me or something similar... Limited options for touch, for a voice that was not obsequious or weighing my worth, for a voice that did not pick out my every flaw, reminding me constantly that perfection was all that was acceptable... Forebears, Susan, I tried -” voice cracking, and Susan found enough strength to bring Caspian in for an embrace, and she felt his tears on her bare breasts, “I tried for so long to show Miraz I was worthy of his care. That I was Telmarine enough, man enough, that I saw in him my only living family, that -” a broken sob, “that I had wished he were my father instead, so that he would love me, so I was not a burden, a constant disappointment like I was... Deep down I knew that it would never be right, but I wanted to try, so I could say I had, even if I failed over and over and over again. Glozelle and Cornelius and Prunaprismia, they shared what they could as best they could within the limits placed upon them, pushing boundaries...” 

A full body shudder, and Susan sang a little waiting for his tremors to calm. When was the last time he was held? Other than by herself. “While I may have ceased carrying on with maidservants, unless one came to me for help, I still went out every other night, as it was all I had left, Susan. And such places, situations, they do not like a girl to be taken up all night - she cannot see more customers or do other tasks, even if the proprietor or manager was happy to let me extend what gentleness to them I could. For in return, I gained the only closeness I was permitted, and, and it was an illusion of care, or it was...it was care for right then. It was enough to survive off of, Susan.”

And it was all he’d had, but Susan vowed she would give him more, as much of it as he could take, she’d just stuff Caspian full of it, store it up like a bear gorging for hibernation. Whether they died tomorrow or a month or two months from now, Susan would fill up the desert with oases and blooms and water and fruitful bounty of a shared, happy touch and closeness. Some would be sex, yes, but when they finally exited their little hidey hole, she would hold his hand as they walked, she would lean into him when they talked, reach out and tuck hair aside, or impulsively kiss him. Or she’d just tackle him with a hug, like Lucy would (and had). And there would be plenty of closeness, just sitting side by side, menial task or war council, near enough for her to feel the warmth he shed since his body had so very little insulation (granted, he wasn’t a bag of bones anymore, but with how much he had packed on and grown over the last months, Susan had a feeling that he’d grow a bit more soon what with regular meals) but he would never be a man with much fat reserve. So she would just sidle up close enough, a breath between them or an inch, and she’d soak up his shed heat so she could reflect it back to him, because Caspian couldn’t afford to lose out on those layers of warmth and care and connection. However long they had, she would revel and bask in him, while returning the favour, sharing, until they would wake up and not just have feelings of friendship, respect and care, and a desire to love the other...Susan would wake up and actually love him, and he would wake up and actually love her. Oh, oh so cliche, a little story inside a book, Jane Austen with a prayer of happiness. For the moment, they would hang on, learn, and discover, find moments to exist with one another, until they were both ready to know what they’d managed to create somehow while seeking out and seeing the other person in a way no one else did or could.

Caspian had been right in his very first instinct when he saw her, saw straight through her - Susan was deeply lonely in places her love and fulfillment and joy gained from caring for her family, friends, and when in Narnia, her people, couldn’t reach or see. Nobody, even her family, really wanted to dig into the deeper spots, they had too much on their minds, even when it wasn’t a crisis. Edmund probably saw more, Lucy just loved and hoped and was bright, and Peter was too focused on what the family or Narnia or England needed, to see Susan’s individual loneliness. It was alright, Susan knew they were that way, and she loved them in spite of and because of it. Those were the things that made her family who they were, their individual selves. But they were always shocked if Susan broke character, broke mould even a teeny bit, she was the quiet, measured and responsible, always reasonable, maternal one, reliable always, always, always reliable, with no silly thoughts in her head...ever. Not of adventure, not of love beyond a very general ‘love everyone, especially the needy, the country, and family’. It got so very hard to live for the family, and not once for herself... Caspian knew though, he knew, he saw, he had the same - and a thousand times worse. Caspian recognized in her, a version of his own pain, but dimmer, less overwhelming, and mixed with something that may provide him with some hope of his own. Fair trade and one Susan, even if she had more friends to share with, and ones who _knew_ her and would take her as is - even if she had tons of friends and family like that, Susan would take the tremulous, precious offering a man searching for hope, was willing to give. Because Caspian had so little compared to others, it meant his gifts cost him so much more. Priceless, without compare, the only closest thing Susan could ever use to measure what she felt coming from Caspian when he touched her, when he looked at her, when he spoke and shared and _saw_ her, was Aslan’s own acceptance, Aslan’s Love, and Aslan’s freely given gifts, that came only with the admonishment to live and love. 

_Oh, silly girl, you really do have it bad...Peter’s right, oh dear. Next you’ll be worried that Caspian will be crucified to further the allegorical comparison of Caspian’s Jesus to Aslan’s God. What with the perfection, the whole deep care, and giving of himself, sacrificing himself - it’s a bit difficult to not compare him, dammit! Don’t forget the Narnian Saviour Messiah against vast tyranny bit, that does add that on rather thick, doesn’t it?_ Caspian had stopped crying, his breathing evening out, but she wasn’t sure he was asleep or dozing, so she refrained - narrowly - from growling. Susan didn’t want to startle or wake him while her own body was rapidly recovering for the complete and utter care he had taken with her body. _Anyone who tries to **sacrifice** him, is going to go through me. Queen Susan’s got tons of people who think ever so well of her, but Susan Pevensie’s only got one who **sees** her, **accepts** her whole, who refuses to react negatively even when I, she, gets all weird... Well two people counting Aslan of course. And Susan Pevensie isn’t so gentle as everyone thinks... No, no, if anyone touches Caspian with intent to harm, he may have swords and armour, but I’ve a bow, and a nasty memory for faces to go with a physician's skill... Mark my words, if I ever get a good, solid crack at Miraz..._

A meaningless wish - even if Susan had Miraz in her sights, she would let the others decide his fate. Unless it was on an active battlefield, all bets were off. Because Susan would search him out to take him down...if she got such a chance, or had a moment to spare from feathering any poor fool who got too close to Caspian on such a field... Susan had one person in her life actively who saw her, and she would protect him as zealously, fanatically, as he had done for her time and time again.


	5. 018: Recent History A World Away Pt 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck. Brain went bonkers, and I sank into a few weeks of playin' Xenosaga and not writing. So, finally, during War of Deliverance nookie is now...delivered. The second scene I had _intended_ to be summation of end of movie plus a good romp for Su and Cas, but _nooooOOOOO_ , they had to decide it was a good idea to do interpersonal stuff and PTSD. Because man, oh man, does Cas have extreme PTSD, so let's just stick him back in Castle Telmar, in his lifelong room, and have Su watch him come unhinged. Because I'm nice and love to poke and prod them.
> 
> Fingers crossed, next section/chapter of this, will finish off the PC timeline, and continue the backwards march of where/how Susan had grown to be a strong person, so that her fall into her own pit and shattering made sense.

Susan awoke with her body rather pleasantly loose, head to toe. And a lover was cuddled up close and naked, and oh that possessive hand on her hip was probably not something to encourage... Yawning and stretching a little, Susan recalled where - or more accurately, _when_ she was. It sent a thrill of anxiety, hope, and happiness - _Don’t forget trepidation. That’s covered by the anxiety! Sigh, oh quite right_ \- through her. Her time sense wasn’t very good when indoors, but she was usually fairly good at approximating how much of a sleep she’d partaken of... And it had been a bit more than a catnap, and far less than an actual nap. (A nap, in Susan’s mind, was anything less than two and a half hours, because at three hours, it may as well register itself as ‘not a good sleep’. But anything less than forty-five minutes was a cat nap or catch as can soldier’s sleep, and not particularly restful...by and large.) So, perhaps an hour or hour and a half? 

Measuring, stretching, testing the stiffness of her limbs, Susan was very careful to not dislodge Caspian, and when she felt that possessive hand tighten and flex, Susan just reached down to stroke the space between his fingers. _Evil hands, really. A healer’s, a soldier’s, a scholar’s, a lover’s...I wonder what else he likes to do with them? **Besides** tease and tempt me with them as he fondles my horn. Dratted man, I’d best be careful, I’ll fall in love with him in full long before I’m ready..._ But was a person _ever_ ready to face that emotion? _Mothers, fathers, they are, or at least they certainly seem to be, when the babe finally comes out to meet them and breathe first hand air rather than fluid, but they’ve months to come to that state. Oh goodness, **do not** think about what he said about midwife tricks, because I’m sure it works wonders, I really don’t want to be a useless puddle again so soon._ Mostly because it would hinder her sharing herself while exploring what Caspian wanted to share with her. 

A grunt and snuffle, mouth opening and sucking promptly on her nipple in a sleepy, hungry sort of fashion, Caspian’s dark eyes blinked open, foggy and ‘morning’ aroused. Soft ‘pop’, her suddenly peaked nipple was released, and Caspian’s expression shifted, verging to rather put out, “Dammit,” the curse heartfelt and rare, followed by an attempt at one she’d treated him to a little bit ago (and had probably heard Edmund say loudly and angrily a few times) “Fuck. I had intended to stay awake, as I wished to have a chance to watch you sleep for once. 

“After, if you’re not out and snoring -” the ‘snoring’ got her a disapproving look, “- fine, breathing deeply the way the exhausted do, even those who don’t snore, and yes, I’m counting the silly little wuffle deep breaths I do when that tired, as a snore thank you - after, if you’re not out and worn to the nubs, you can watch me drool all over you in my sleep. I’ve been told that if I’m particularly worn out, that I mumble nonsense stories and conversations from my dreams. Apparently I don’t seem to do it any other time...” Nose crinkling at him, “And you’ll be free to find out that contrary to what I know my brothers have been told, that yes, even nice girls make noises and such in their sleep, because they’re also human. Even proper lady queens like I’m most certainly not behaving as for the moment. Not much of a show probably, but if you wish to stay awake for it as you’re worried I’ll poof and leave, then if you’ve got some decent rope, I’m sure you’re clever enough to think of a way to keep me in place...”

Hand on her mouth, his own falling open a little, “Susan, rope? Really? That is not a little...outside of the...” A hitched stumble of words, messy phrasing discarded, “Outside of my initial tutelage and instruction, I have not undertaken that sort of...play. Other kinds, yes, but bindings, control, these I have not had a chance to explore further.”

She shrugged, and just knew she was probably twinkling at him. (Who was it who said she did that when being mischievous in the boudoir?) “I like to participate and I’m told that I can be rather squirmy. But I only let myself be bound up twice...” Susan trailed off, a small frown, and a puffing sigh, she dismissed it, “Before Rabadash. But, as I said earlier, last night, or...prior to our short nap - I trust you and am willing to be playful, daring, demanding, giving...anything I feel like being or is there at the moment...for you, with you, I can be whatever Susan Pevensie wants right that moment, and I know it’ll be more than just quite alright, but that it’ll be splendid.” Giving his shoulder a poke, “You’re the _only_ man I’ve just lain back and relaxed for to do whatever he wanted, you know. Not even a wee bit of playful wriggling away or whatnot! I know my way around my body, a man, and a bed - and I like it that way. But you...you I don’t mind, you I like in that manner...if you were to ask, I’d relinquish all control to you and not even keep a smidge for myself for awhile...”

Susan saw a flare of interest as well as acceptance of the implications, his gaze going to saddlebags and the large sack that she had learned had been taken from his quarters after he had fled. Someone had left it near the edge of the forest several months ago, long after his medical kit had been purloined and returned to its rightful owner. Susan suspected his pack may have traveled through far more hands than Caspian would choose to believe, for women had their own community, just as men did, and for someone who had done much (no matter how others may think it strange or not actually good or right) for their situation, those women would take the risk to sneak something. After all, men, particularly the kind that the Telmarines sounded like they produced, wouldn’t think to look to the women for such actions. Some may say treason, others, loyalty, but in the end, Susan would wager that the women only thought of it as sharing back some of the giving that Caspian had done. Not even a repayment or evening of balances, rather such a risk, would be considered - or so Susan supposed, she, after all, hadn’t had any contact with Telmarine women herself - nothing more than a sign of thankfulness, that would be repeated if they found a chance or thought they could do something. It was a subtle sort of thing.

But in that enormous pack, one that made the largest military duffle Susan had ever spied a soldier carting back in London look only modest in size, was a carefully sorted and arranged set of items. Most of them were personal in terms of things Caspian would need that fit him, so on, so forth (including some rather fine chain and sturdier armour than his usual brigandine), but there were also harder to find things. Small camp cooking gear, fire starter flint and steel combos, a handful of whetstones, things like that, things that the women couldn’t know Caspian had mostly come across make-do replacements. There was even a set of fresh, fine horseshoes for Destrier. Most of all though, Susan was quite aware there was a very, very good length of rope. It wasn’t rough and made of hemp, in fact, when she had seen it, it had looked to be silk, but it was likely wool or cotton, no matter that it’d held a bit of a sheen.

Teasing him a little, “Though I wonder what sort of life they think you’re living out here. That rope’s rather fine, or looked to be when you and I returned with clean laundry that one night...”

“Silk,” the reply was easy, but his head was still cocked, thinking, pondering. 

“It’s really silk? Whyever for, sounds sort of...wasteful,” Susan found a small laugh, hugging him in close, and goodness did Caspian feel utterly wonderful against her, and his arm slipping under her back to return the embrace was also very nice... Even though it did cause her ribcage to hump up a little and her spine to twist slightly, it wasn’t onerous in the slightest for the awkwardness. 

Face swinging back towards her, “Not particularly. It weights less than a tenth of a hemp rope, takes up a third or less of the room, and can be half the thickness while still being as sturdy or even sturdier. Hemp is cheap, rough, frays, very easily cut, it rots, mildews quickly if not treated when being made. In a worst case scenario, fibers unrolled from a hemp rope could not be used to stitch a wound. Nor could such a material be used to plug up one. Silk is versatile, and that particular rope is not made up of twisted together fibers, but is actually woven cloth that is then twisted and folded and layered into its present form.” The qualities were enumerated on, recited, a teacher’s lesson to a student, by rote, but also with enough inflection and additions to imply learned by rote, but also actually understood. “...Glozelle taught me war and valour, but in the dark of night, it was he who encouraged poisons, application of medical knowledge not to heal, but to tame, or gain information from.” Adding, “He is a bastard, his father a Lord, his mother, a Calormene courtesan...and after she birthed him here, she stayed until he was ten, left, and when he was twenty, demanded his father send him to her for three years. It is said he returned a bit...strange. Originally he was courting my aunt...but the time away, removed that chance for him. Miraz had already taken her as an off again, on again, mistress until my parents both died, after my mother refused to remarry and take him, and he was made to take a wife for the sake of propriety.” 

“And generals don’t take spouses?” Susan tried to make sense of the information, but she was aroused, feeling rather cuddly to go with that amorousness, and a little put out that her body had betrayed her earlier. First by not having the good sense to let her hymen break in a easy fashion during her present tenure in Narnia, then secondly, by being so uncooperative when she’d wanted to touch Caspian so much while he sent tsunamis of lapping, undertow dragging release through shaking limbs...and _third_ , her body had utterly betrayed her with demanding a nap and thus, an interruption to the joining she and Caspian both craved. And _now_ Caspian was distracting her with intriguing conversation. “Wait, wait - answers later, please? Umn...you start talking and I lose all concentration and forget anything beyond how much I love hearing your voice and your thoughts, and how I want to turn myself into a waterfall of words, too...while, whenever I can manage to stop listening or talking, all I can do is shudder and shake, electrified like lighting strikes on metal, a live wire sparking this way and that for want of being closer to you.”

That got one of those smaller laughs, oh, he’d laughed so much since the scout ledge, it was enough to make her forget all the potential nightmare on the horizon. “Fast then - yes, generals may take spouses, they make good hostages for the king and Council, which is why Glozelle never took one, nor produced a child, no risk of hostages. Instead, he poured all that into me, but unfortunately his word of honour is to Miraz and the Council, not to me personally. Personal feelings are set aside, otherwise, I believe he would have been here, or had secreted the Professor to safety, likely act as a double agent, he is the sort. And when I talk, your face, your eyes...” Susan’s lashes fluttered closed as he traced a brow then her upper lash-line, whisper soft. “It is like those Calormene curio toys - they look like spyglasses, but you twist the barrel and inside you will see that new and different shapes and reflections of rainbows and such have been created. Your eyes, your expression, it is like that... It makes me speak even when much of me wishes to speak with my body. All this time I have been an idiot - rambling at you in the dark, rather than with enough light to see the endless vista of your expression and light.” Leaning in, and Susan tipped her chin up to meet him part way, hands spreading over his scarred back, the sensory input of that touch so strange and different from any other man, and before his mouth was on hers, or hers on his, “It is an oversight and terrible tactical error that will be remedied henceforth.”

Susan pulled him back in when Caspian began to part and shift, garnering a little snorting laugh - _How many laughs does Caspian have? Oh bother, where’s my notebook so I can catalogue them?_ \- and more kissing followed. That swamping sensation returned, but Susan wasn’t going to let it rule her this time, later, later it could do that, especially if Caspian took up the teasingly mentioned option of using that rope in a way Susan had only tried out of curiosity, but under his hands didn’t sound bad at all. _Oh, no, not bad at all. I wonder how long we can go without food? There should be some trail rations, oh yes, and right, he’s always got a full waterskin. Always prepared, my Caspian._ Susan could later chastised herself with referring in a possessive, claiming fashion of the Telmarine prince. If she could remember that is. _Well, maybe we can get to the rope later, I’m sure there’s some boring thing or other to do with a war that actually requires us...but later. Later, not right now. They can do without us for what, twelve hours at least? Even broken up and interrupted with sleep, that’s not a lot of time to explore._

Once upon a time, Susan had thought an all night escapade of exploration, napping, talking, touching, playing, and sex was a goodly amount of time. That had changed at some point. _Hairy Archenlander, the virgin. Right! Apparently the male virgin problem isn’t **always** true..._ That situation, the first time, when she hadn’t even realized the soldier had been a virgin (after all, he’d seemed to know a good deal of other bits of pleasurable sharing) had left both pitchers of water she usually had kept in her quarters, quite empty, as well as the bowl of fruit, and it had been late afternoon when she popped her head out to beg a passing Cat to send enough supplies for at least another day... So, twelve hours, definitely not enough time with Caspian...even if they spent far too much of it sleeping and talking. _Oh, but the talking is good... Shh! No distractions!_

Setting aside the messy, mussy, contradictory thoughts in her head, Susan also tossed the rope idea for ‘later, probably next time when a day can somewhere be strangled and squeezed into being somewhat cooperative’. And if Susan had to go and blow up the bridge at Beruna herself to buy that time, she’d bloody well do it, too. Let’s see anyone stop her! If they were going to all die, or at least be beaten very badly, Susan was going to find joy in what was in her arms to gird herself against that agony. _Death’s preferable to being forced to leave Narnia, again, you know. No, no, shh! Susan Pevensie, you are not going to ruin this by thinking about ugly eventualities. Those thoughts are for **outside** of the bed. In bed, only thoughts of each other, nothing else, no bad, unless it’s old bad, and sharing the wound so it may be given due tenderness, dammit. You hear me?!_

If anyone actually knew just how many arguments Susan had with herself, and how often she had the Susan Pevensie the Young Woman Who Was Lonely lost out to Queen Susan or Susan Pevensie The Older Sister Maternal Responsible Reasonable One - she would be locked in an institution. The only thing the inner Susan ever had won arguments over was seeking male companionship, and that _one_ little experiment with the Calormene dancer, because Susan may not generally find the female form enticing, but there were exceptions to every rule. Also, the fig wine at Tashbaan had been drugged with aphrodisiacs. Probably. And even when Susan had actually quite liked Rabadash originally, she hadn’t found him enticing at all. No, her inner self was what always got set aside in favour of pretty much everything else in the world, in spite of the fact that part of her was curious about _everything_ , and was about as playful as a kitten in a basket of loose knitting. However, that same inner, individual Susan, was also frequently unsure, afraid, insecure about her overall worth outside of her role, and the sadness of always being seen as those roles even by those she loved most... Susan just didn’t let any of that out. But Caspian wanted all of that, and she wanted, needed, him to want all of that...so Susan gave up that bit of self control. For his sake and her own, for them to both claim something for themselves that they’d never really had.

Selfish within reason, adventurous within constraints, vulnerable in a safe place, greedy with the awareness of acceptance and amplified sharing that put no limits between the two.

Caspian had been playfully tussled and kissed onto his back, Susan straddling his thighs, and she really settled in to explore the torso before her. A hand under his head, casual and hungry, urging her on, “The candles are still in place, Susan. I want to see what you see.”

Leaning over him to grab the lone candle he’d forgotten to snuff, or really she had, since she had managed to stay awake a little longer than him, Susan beamed at him, cheeks all pinched to the point of making her look far too young probably, her teeth and dimples in full force, reaching to light those candles within reach of her arms. “Mind reader.”

“Sensualist,” countered. “Visual cues spur action, enjoyment, measure the other person’s status, which result in particular reactions or expressions that spur my own. My body may know the dance just fine and be capable of enjoying it, but the mind is left disengaged when only one or two senses are employed. Then I begin wondering which of my alchemical experiments needs fine tuning or is ready to be bottled, or if I am low on this or that item or substance. What the next day’s expectations are, am I supposed to risk an appearance at the Council if it is in session, and do I wear full regalia...so on, so forth. Mind disengaged, then the dance continues, but is forgotten in a few hours on my end.”

Slipping free enough to continue lighting the candles, double checking a few that hadn’t been so secure, Susan grabbed the waterskin for a quick drink that turned into long gullet straining guzzles. Susan hadn’t realized she was so thirsty until water touched her tongue. But Caspian was watching, and chuckling a little to himself, while she shot him a faint glare from the corner of her eye.

“You lost a great deal of fluid earlier, my Susan,” voice sultry. “Enough so I do not think you were aware of the fact that this entire spot,” patting up from where her back had rested on the pallet, “was almost as damp as the one down here,” fingers fondling and tangling in cloth that had been under her thighs, licking his lips. “Perhaps I got carried away watching, but I have never in all creation witnessed something so vital as you in the throes like that, unable to do anything but sigh and enjoy it, your entire being handed over, trusting, and receiving as much bliss as I could possibly bring you in those touches.”

Gasping as she finally was able to stop drinking, Susan held the skin out to him, a significant dent in its contents, “ _Perhaps_ you’re right, sir. Well rested, watered and fed, and a bit of warning, I’ll entrust myself to your care again like that, but,” Susan couldn’t help a hinted playful pout, “it’s rather unfair when I wish to put you in the same state. Me with all the releases, but you with all the shows. Bit one sided, we should trade on that front, make it pleasantly egalitarian.”

Caspian flopped flat on his back from where he’d rolled onto his side and elbow again, all propped up to watch her, but he didn’t stop watching even though he had returned to a supine pose. Mostly because she was quickly skittering back to her earlier spot straddling his thighs. Placidly, rather certain of himself, “I am a startlingly simple man at times, Susan. To see, to touch, be touched, to witness, share, and be witnessed in turn, no matter how shallow all that is, or how deep, those are the things that would have me in the same state.” Hand behind his head, the other weighing one of her breasts casually, fingers digging in gently and smoothing, sliding, learning the weight and texture, Susan wondered if she should lament that they weren’t as large as they’d become, or if she should be happy that they were still _manageable_ , not that they would be for long, last time by the point seventeen came around, every single one of the top portions of her clothes had turned into plunging necklines for simple pulling and filling strain of her breasts. “And if all those very simple things are combined, then happen with the one I belong with,” Susan’s own hands almost halted, her breath hitched, and she wondered if he noticed his slip, or if it wasn’t a slip at all, “believe me, Susan, there will be nothing else to compare it to other than your blissful trust and allowing of my touch, while allowing yourself to run counter to nature enough to just exist in those moments so I may see...” Lips twitching, “You have also managed a feat that all my tutors have always despaired over, and I mean even the ones who did not oversee me deeply - you gain public speaking, philosophy, debate, speeches, and if my words were done to a different cadence, probably poetry or sonnets the way Aunt Prunaprismia always did her best to teach me so we may have had something in common other than the art of shape and colour. Aye, I am a fool, lady, and so long as you do not mind, then neither shall I.” Stretching, his gaze going over her again, his appreciation and desire there clear and unabashed, “So, you wish to see, play and explore to sate your curiosity, drink deeply from the goblet of firsthand experience, gain your fill. As much or as little as you like, I am here, and await you, content.”

Susan raised a brow, having scooted up during that utterly beautiful (fairly typical for him when he got going, Aslan that man could talk) ramble speech that she was increasingly aware would be her complete downfall, and lifted her hips just enough...then rocked down, sheathing Caspian with no real warning, her muscles sore, but not violently protesting the invasion. Under normal circumstances, or at least in her adult body of old, Caspian’s size wouldn’t have been quite at the uncomfortable level, but closer than she would have generally chosen. However, body newly made ready for any kind of actual entrance, and Susan heaved a gasp. It wanted to be pleasure. It wanted to be pain. It was a bit of both, and it was a great deal of tight knotted pressure, and Caspian’s hand squeezing her breast with unintentional force, had Susan moaning. (And not in an unhappy way either...)

Mumbling, “Caspian - talk too much sometimes.” Under her, Caspian was breathing through short pants of surprise, every muscle in stark straining relief, and Susan could guess the fresh war with his body - this time to thrust up, to yank her down, to roll her over, to move, move, move, if she was reading his expression and body language accurately. Hand pressed to the center of his chest, balance and reminder she was there and it was alright, Susan rolled her hips experimentally, then whimpered. “Oh...oh my that was ambitious of me I think...”

“Aye,” strangled, rough, and Susan was startled when his lids opened, as she was burnt to a crisp, trapped as she saw the dark stirring, turning his longing and ache, into greed, claiming what had been hinted at being offered, to snatch at satisfaction, succor, belonging, mutual ownership, all at once, all the good, flipped on its side or twisted just enough, to see the darker implications and possibilities. Yet...yet it was all of that without fear or a lack of safety. For _either_ of them. The darker things would be as good as what they were already searching for. 

Unable to take so much of him, Susan stretched out over Caspian, her chest to his, her belly to his, and her arms encircled him without lifting him up, providing a buffer. She couldn’t look away, though she couldn’t really further the union of their bodies much for the moment. There was no way Susan could push down farther, though so much of Caspian’s length was unclaimed, cold and teased by whatever heat and welcoming wet there was inside her body. It was an injustice Susan would work at remedying, for she wanted him buried all the way in, no matter what, to find shelter inside her body’s full acceptance, showing that she reacted to him the same way he reacted to her. The way he twisted or tilted to always be able to keep her at least in his peripherals, to track her movements in a way that wasn’t creepily obsessed the way some men could become. Like Caspian had said, he was steering by whatever light he perceived from her, and there was nothing bad about that. After all, she also always kept him within sight, and rather than twist and tilt, she would simply go stand near him, which was far better, and far less restrained than the bonds Caspian put upon himself. And, other than the heat and her wanting to give over everything, to let him claim when that idea hadn’t ever been all that arousing with anyone before... Caspian was...well...monosyllabic, which was _also_ a whole other level of absolute needful arousal, which he was doing his best to contain before all rules he put upon himself were broken. Not that she could talk once being captured and ensnared, she was mute, deaf and dumb to anything outside of that contact and visual of him duking it out with himself inside to not just take everything from her held out hand in a forceful, commanding mad grab for her hand and everything else. As much as it would probably smart, probably even fully _hurt_ considering how new her younger body was to accepting, welcoming throbbing and well above the standard candy bar sized male guest bodypart, Susan actually...almost wanted him to lose control. He wouldn’t hurt her, it may hurt a bit, but it wouldn’t _hurt_. 

Thumbs rubbing Caspian’s hairline, Susan dipped her face closer, nuzzling and kissing his jaw, holding his gaze, and she did hope he saw whatever he needed to make whatever decision he wanted or needed most. A relieved sigh puffed out from him, a hitch in his diaphragm causing a tiny hiccup, and that...that was all they both needed to return to some semblance of calm. Or at least enough calm to prevent pure animal rutting on both their parts with no thought of any discomfort, dissatisfaction, upset, consequence, nor anything beyond complete primal need to claim, be claimed, and probably...devoured to some degree. Because that little hiccup had squeaked, and then they both giggled like children for a few moments before tapering off into those deliciously languid kisses. 

Before long, Susan was unconsciously doing a lot more than tiny little wiggles, and was coating a goodly portion of Caspian’s length in her juices as she rolled and ground down further. It only registered consciously because both of them had to break the kiss, panting out groans in unison as she took another good sized bit of Caspian’s cock into her trembling body as it strained to accommodate. That really had been a good bit more than simply ambitious, it was also very unreasonable, irresponsible, and probably _not _her smartest idea, but Aslan, if he had kept talking, she would have turned into a goo-goo eyed silly ninny. Which, no matter how much Susan wanted Caspian, or would soon grow to need him just for continued breathing let alone quality of life, but just, life in general, a silly ninny was no part of Susan Pevensie. Or, well, only a _tiny_ amount of silly ninny was part of Susan Pevensie, but hopefully not too much. Silliness was fine, but the whole combination of silly ninny was some terrible thing that could so easily become utter, useless featherhead. And all over a boy? __

___Man, over a man, that may lessen the guilt. No, no, it doesn’t! No silly ninny, no featherhead! Drool and make a fool of yourself over Caspian all you want, Susan Pevensie, but there’ll be no featherheaded activities allowed! Oh no, no, no, no, otherwise there’ll be no more of - **Ohbloodyhellhowdoeshedothat**? Is he **purring**?_ _ _

__Mumbling in the corner of his jaw, and ended on a shivering, shaking churn as her voice squeaked and cracked in surprise as his own hips came up to press slowly, far more slowly than her arhythmic movements, as, under her, Caspian had somehow managed to make his entire body vibrate, a rumbling basso sound stuttered to life in the back of his throat and deep in his chest, “Practice, going to need, I need lots of practice, out of practice lots... Oh _god_ Caspian...”_ _

__The purring didn’t last long, thank her lucky stars, otherwise Susan would have lost all ability to concentrate on at least _moving_. _ _

__“Practice,” Caspian agreed, growling his own mumble, his arms only briefly wrapping around her before pulling away so his hands could travel, encourage, guide. “We shall...we shall get you, I submit to the, _fuck_ ,” head pressing back into the pallet, teeth grit, panting, but Caspian hadn’t released, only become overloaded for a moment. Head rocking back, Susan was again pinned by that look as she did her best to maintain some sort of logical pace rather than get lost completely, and Caspian sounded eerily calm and collected, “I gladly put myself forward as your practice partner, until you regain any lost ability, and pick up some new ones possibly...or, or as long as you desire me.”_ _

__Breathlessly laughing, burying her face in his throat, licking the sweat there, “Can’t...can’t walk and chew gum...same time anymore... Two things, same time, not good, can’t do...” Inside her tight sheath, he flexed, “Oh god Caspian that’s _evil_!” Moaning, pushing up from his chest weakly as she continued to ride him in an attempt to find something steady, though Susan would roll and rock fast for a few moments, before circling her hips slow, and it was topsy turvy, unintentional, and utterly maddening because it felt good, but she just couldn’t find a pace she could reliably maintain, “That’s so evil - by the Mane if you don’t do it again, I’ll be sad.”_ _

__A secure hold was taken on her hips, lifting her somewhat in the air off of him, and Susan whined unhappily, until the twitching pressure of a flex came. And it pressed just right, leaving Susan to dig her fingers into Caspian’s upper chest, panting. Her knees wouldn’t properly support her, neither would her arms, she was jelly and it was silly, they’d _barely_ gotten anywhere, and she was _so much better than this_ , but by Aslan, being fifteen again wasn’t fair because it made her crazy and tight and horny all at once. It left her body all rebellious and hungry, and when her brain tried to tell her to do one thing, her body just sort of keeled over and said no, it needed a rest because that was far too much good stuff for it to handle all at once. _ _

__Crossly, between very happy noises, nips, kisses, licks and a few light bites, petting hands on her sides, back, rump in counter to her own attempts to do the same to him, Susan squirmed to sit up more firmly, which, for a moment, was exquisitely distracting and needed exploring at that angle and grind for a few more moments just to verify how good it felt, “You know, I’m so much better than this, not fair.” Susan was whining probably, and complaining about something that didn’t need complaining about, but Caspian was huffing a laugh, writhing in a far more deliberate manner than what she was able to convince her body to do for the moment._ _

__“I - my Q-my _Susan_ , lady, love, friend,” he was babbling a bit himself at least as he laughed. “I am _not_ complaining. Never, no, not at all, _forebearers give me your strength, I beseech you_ do _not_ do that if you want me to not let loose like I am green as a sapling!” The last was a plaintive warning, delivered because he didn’t want to end sooner rather than later, but also with a very sad whine, because it _apparently_ felt that good, that to not repeat it as many times as possible before falling off the precipice seemed a bit of a loss. Probably. _ _

__Practice, she would need practice before she could fully control those muscles again._ _

__Caspian heaved up, driven to a breaking point by her body’s unruly behaviour, and Susan did manage to get her legs and arms wrapped around his waist in anticipation. While hands supported her and there was shifting, twisting, until he was on his knees, while holding her to him like she was some bizarre sexually attached monkey, the new position was neither up against the wall, nor on her back as she had expected. (Of any of the possible variations of on her back, there were so very many that would grant him full access and ability to decide on depth, force, angle, all of it, and so long as it wasn’t plain old untilted hip, missionary - then again, considering her body’s present condition, that may not be as terrible the first few times as she would generally consider. Later, later he could discover all those sweet spots he’d teased so deliciously with his hands, and with something mutually pleasing, chiefly, his manhood.) Instead, the position was back on his knees, which they both seemed to be doing a lot of, and Susan’s mind wasn’t really thinking, it was absorbing information, assessing, correlating, and probably saving (or just as likely as brain function was a bit lacking, tossing that information out on accident) everything random going on. It was all she could do to not fall apart into a piece of thrashing fluff pleading with Caspian for all sorts of things because she’d become so mindless, her nerves so unaccustomed to stimuli, all of it so new and fresh and utterly, utterly, without fail, overwhelmingly, resulting in sensory overload and not much more cogent thought than ‘out of practice’ and ‘try harder to participate dammit!’_ _

__Caspian hadn’t fibbed, hadn’t stretched the truth at all, oh no. No, he knew what to do with a virgin, and it wasn’t just the maidenhead he’d stretched, loosened, and trained to a point where breaking through the vastly thinner, more relaxed flesh was easy. He let her have her head but when it was clear she really couldn’t do anymore - probably because she was groaning and sobbing into his shoulder, hungry and desperate, as she struggled to find the pace that not just she needed, but they both needed - was when Susan felt Caspian take over completely. And then she no longer needed to think, not even attempt any semblance of it. He did it all, and she trusted him to, and - _Oh god, please, yes, more don’t you ever stop, Aslan preserve me, never let this end, dear whatever, just... **don’t ever stop doing that or I’ll die**!__ _

__In his lap Susan flailed and kissed and held and clutched and her hips churned and pressed and rocked rather uselessly, but she felt Caspian working with and around all that. Sweat slicked limbs, and that Telmarine dialect was back, panted and chanted with every careful upward surging lunge as Caspian would on the downstroke rest on his heels before lifting and rolling his body, his hips, in a rocking thrust, taking her with him for every single motion. Inside, everything coiled and coiled and coiled like a squished spring, bright and hot and beautiful, and Susan made her eyes do one thing - well, two things - even if she couldn’t get much else of her to obey her whims. Firstly, to stop rolling around and wasting time by not looking at/watching Caspian. Secondly, to _focus_ on him instead of cross and fuzz out when she grabbed his shoulders, as there was an odd slippery popping sensation almost as she sank the last inches the rest of the way down, garnering a startled hiss from Caspian, and a helpless moan from her own self. Once her eyes managed that much, though her neck was a bit spotty on reliability as she just wanted to pitch forward and lay her head on his shoulder...or toss it back but that meant no more looking... _ _

__As Susan felt herself being not just pushed, worked, guided, or even sort of _hauled_ (Caspian, ever polite would probably say something more along the lines of ‘gladly carried when required due to being overwrought’ a crazed thought that was quite absent any marbles resembling sanity or however the saying went that wound up flitting through her mind, even said in his voice with the only thing outside of norm, being a boyish smile, oh but that had shown up a few times last few hours) up the mountain of unresolved sexual tension that was _finally_ nearing a summit that Susan had a feeling was probably going to be a world shattering release - except Susan had thought she was ‘farther away’, or that she was already in a state of elevated completion, sort of like a wilder version of that vaginal massage trick of Caspian’s... And Susan blacked out, gasping as everything inside shattered into a thousand, million, infinite pieces that may have once resembled Susan Pevensie, as pleasure so intense, mixed with joy and connection, and there were probably not just tears of effort on her face, but actual ones (but she could hope it was just sweat, right?) and nothing else existed but one thing. A breath. A breath led to a Song. A Song led to Creation, or, at least an _act_ of life, and it was all focused on one spot deep in her belly, but also nestled in her arms, writhing and straining, body sweat slicked and using emotion to fuel every stroke of exertion, every muttered nonsense word in an attempt to make it so their minds, words, and hearts could entwine, tangle, and merge the way their bodies had._ _

__Crashing and breaking apart on return, secure against bunched up and valiantly working muscles, Susan tangled hands in soft espresso and warm melted chocolate coloured strands, fighting to press her face to his, at least to bring his forehead to hers. Glassy eyes, focused and unfocused, Caspian’s arm was hooked securely around her waist, his body leaning forward, balanced on his other arm, and the great lunges of him moving deep within her still twitching sheath, had Susan feeling almost manageable aftershock earthquakes as she hung on. There was no way it could continue, Susan was certain, Caspian would have to lose himself...and she wanted to see what was there when all his monumental control broke free._ _

__Gasping his name, “Caspian -”_ _

__A hungry growl tapering to a whine came from him, and Susan shook as another gliding thrust that employed every muscle of his body came close to triggering another avalanche within. Crooning encouragement, Susan urged Caspian on, closer and closer to his own teetering edge. There was a brief, useless thought, that she should have begun taking powders from the jilial bush months ago, but even if something did catch...it probably wouldn’t matter. Sucking the beads of perspiration from Caspian’s lip, Susan begged him to spill in urgent, hungry whispers, to flood her with his release, and his eyes had somehow refocused right on her at just the perfect moment as his strangled, choked, exultant cry of completion burst from his effort reddened throat, the blood vessels having come to the surface, his whole body was that way, exertion and that struggle, but just before his eyes rolled back and Susan felt the extra slip of his spilled seed, when the body followed and reacted after the mind had already traveled elsewhere, his gaze was on her and Susan watched Caspian break apart like an exploding star._ _

__It was utterly perfect...and then his arm gave out, and Susan discovered that she maybe shouldn’t have been stuffing Caspian full of so much food so often. Wriggling best as she could into the pallet, Susan enjoyed the heavy weight of him pressing her down, spreading her legs, as Caspian fought to regain some semblance of coordination. When his hips began to pull away, Susan nipped his shoulder, her sore legs tightening to keep him in place._ _

__“Stay with me,” her request gained a grunt of acquiescence, and only enough shift to the side so she wasn’t in danger of having her ribcage compressed to the point of no longer being free to breathe._ _

__XXX_ _

__Susan had said she wanted practice. She thought it would be all frenzy and grasping and gasping, struggling in dark corners, the two of them always searching for a moment together. It...wasn’t like that _at all_. As tactile as Caspian always was with her horn, she found herself given the same treatment no matter where they were. If Caspian came up behind her, his hands would slip briefly over her shoulders, maybe rub them if she looked tired, or pull her back enough so she could lean against him. Yet his attention wasn’t strained or divided from whatever war discussion or analysis was being done. Susan thought she would have to remind herself to touch him, lean into him, give him the sort of support he’d never had and begged for... But she found it was easy, a touch here or there, hand casually reaching out to brush something aside, checking his hands over for strains up into his elbow, just as he checked hers, both of them holding conversations directed elsewhere or sometimes it was just them with their heads close, talking about beaches or horses, medicines or history._ _

__Their eyes and attentions weren’t focused solely on one another, yet they were also always doing their best to be in one another’s presence. It was a strange paradox, that having gotten to the point where they stopped resisting, they settled into comfortable orbit, that allowed for full, proper attention on their tasks while still maintaining proximity. In the past, Susan had been in relationships that burned and distracted if she wasn’t careful to manage everything, but they were almost entirely based in sexual attraction - which wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t the sole connection that stretched between she and Caspian. Physical attraction was there, oh my was it ever there, but it wasn’t just that, it was that odd slipping into place, mirroring and echoing what was seen in the other. The sexual aspect, filled with deep abiding hunger turning into oft repeated satiation, was a physical manifestation of their other bonding, nothing more, rather than the singular source or reason for that learning, understanding, joining._ _

__One night, their sleeping corner invaded a bit by Lucy, they had gone off to the Stone Table Room. It had seemed a little sacrilegious to her at first, but at the same time it had felt oddly right. Almost sanctified to join their bodies in slow rocking embrace, with only the occasional glint of light thrown back from the other’s eyes, picked up from the torches outside the room. While there, she had felt the slithering remnants of the Deep Magic that had resurrected Aslan, a queer sensation, and that too added to the odd sanctity of she and Caspian’s physical union. Later, as she had dozed off, it was to the sound of strange poetry or vows murmured into her ear as he held her tightly, and Susan thought for a bare moment that she sensed the pools of Deep Magic taking note, becoming alert. Surely it had just been a flight of fancy, a nice thought however that the very fabric of eternity had approved of the thing growing between she and the Telmarine prince._ _

__After months, oh so many months though...suddenly...it was over. All the fear, all the stress, all of which was relieved by those minutes or hours she and Caspian could wrestle for themselves...done. It had been early summer for she and her siblings when they were called forth, and they stayed even after the mid autumn day that the final battle took place on. It had been a perfect day, the kind that was born of an extended summer even though it should have been fall. They stayed through winter, and Susan began to hope._ _

__It took more than a culminating battle to settle things, that’s just how it went. People forgot that, like so many minutia and ho-hum details of actually working towards regular life were so easily forgotten. Battles, coronations, weddings, funerals, celebrations - those were big, noisy, and obvious things...but really had little to do with unifying a country, a people, helping with recovery. It had been good that summer had been so long, that winter was turning out to be warmer - it allowed for better chances at gathering harvests, at planting emergency winter grains, because the fact was that the civil war hadn’t done the people’s larders much good. Supplies had been mostly raided by Caspian’s army from the Telmarines, which had resulted in privation for the Telmarines, because Miraz had a people and an army to feed, yet what had been produced had been stolen for the Narnians, the remainders requisitioned for the Telmarine army... But all of that grinding stuff, it had to be done. People needed constant herding, tending, lords or merchants had to be cornered and made to add their own weight in to help, just as many leaders of clans, villages, or other hidden groups of Narnians had to be ferreted out to do their part too. It took all five of them to manage that, while Aslan had watched or travelled as He willed, spreading news, but just as often listening to the people - Narnian and Telmarine - gifting them with His attention and Presence._ _

__Caspian was as anxious, jumpy and nervy around Aslan as a black cat on a hot tin roof in mid summer at noon...or in Calormen at noon. Both resulted in very distressed, jumpy felines, or, in Caspian’s case, flinching and twitching that was constantly being repressed, strangled down, to show no fear. Susan only noticed because she was watching for it and because she did her best to be near him as frequently as she could, to reassure and support, yes, but also because she really just couldn’t bloody well help it. Besides, only Caspian’s scent could quell the endless queasyness she’d been suffering the last month or so... Yes, she suspected as to why that was there, but things were too hectic, there had to be time, right? She could speak up later, when the Black Dwarves weren’t trying to incite _another_ riot over mining rights while the fall moved into winter, as dealing with preventing hunger or disease was just a touch more important than mining rights, and even the mining rights were definitely more important than something distracting like a pregnancy. Not like she was infirm or anything, and so long as she got a good nose full of Caspian’s smell while awakening, there wasn’t any actual sickness to deal with... Spring would be a good time to say something, symbolic Susan supposed. And that was if the little fluttery, swimming fishy, strain that pulsed time to time actually embedded itself firmly enough to remain. No, Susan held her tongue, and the one time Caspian had made kind of a curious noise about wondering when her monthly was coming as he recalled she’d had at least a few at some point, she had simply said that stress tended to make her cycles go all crazy - and there had been _plenty_ of stress to do just that. (By the Mane, that was what she wanted to believe it was some afternoons when the headache of fatigue would descend... It’s also what she had told herself it was that first skipped menses.)_ _

__However, there was one thing that really, truly bothered Susan, even as she settled into the fresh tedium and rush while comforting hope had started to work its magic... Caspian’s anxiety. The castle was one of the most secure places in all of Narnia - against invasion. But within, Caspian would often sweep his gaze quickly this way and that, subtle and tense, inspecting thoroughly everything for danger. Yes, it stood to reason, Susan understood that, how could she not, for when they retired at night, she watched him check everything the same exact way as the litany of ‘dangerous’ places his mother had taught him to keep him safe? Yet he refused to let anyone other than someone well known to him do the cooking of their meals, meals he tasted and made her wait to eat a good twenty minutes each time before she could eat her portion of the plated meal. They ate from the same plate, drank from the same cup, and used the same utensils - on one hand it was wonderful that Caspian wished her to be safe, but the other, it was verging towards controlling._ _

__Except his paranoia _wasn’t_ unfounded. Not from his past experiences, and not presently with the fact that someone had managed to put something in one portion of their lunch. The delay he had insisted between her finally being able to eat and him having a good taste of it first to see if he could find something amiss, or time for it to activate in a body that was poison resistant in the first place... That caution was all that had prevented Susan from being poisoned as he and her brothers had been. Lucy’s cordial had to be administered to Peter and Edmund to save their lives, and so now were fully recovered...and hunting down the perpetrators. Caspian on the other hand, was sick, no matter that he refused outright the offer of cordial to heal him - heaving and snarling simultaneously he had said that such a precious item wasn’t to be wasted except for the most dire situations. Which he insisted puking his guts out, shaking, fighting off a few seizing fits, and sweating with his body incapable of maintaining a stable temperature...didn’t qualify as dire. _ _

__In the privacy of his quarters, quarters that he’d somehow forced himself to search while keeping her pressed to the ‘safety’ of the usual wall, Caspian had let loose the whimpers, displayed just how ill and weak he was only _after_ his ritual inspection. Susan felt helpless as she sat beside him, tending Caspian as best she could, and because he was busily panting and heaving again, she let a few quiet tears well up at what he put himself through. Except she couldn’t live like this, with him constantly terrified, waiting, watching, looking for every single possible threat. _ _

__The other day, she had managed to find Glozelle, wary of the man whose word had forced him to turn a hand against a protege and rightful monarch. She hadn’t taken any undue risk, and found the former general to be a rather good conversationalist, informative on so very many fronts. Then the man’s eyes had darkened as he had warned her that not all would welcome a Narnian queen holding such favour with their battlefield crowned king, as many had yet to accept that the kingdom was really, truly going to evolve. To that, she asked if Glozelle believed her incapable of protecting herself... His reply had been disturbing. _It didn’t matter if she could or couldn’t_ \- someone, somehow, would find a way through, a way she wouldn’t think to look, or a poison she had no experience with as alchemy had changed a great deal in thirteen hundred years. Instead he said that it was up to Caspian alone to be on guard, for he - rightfully, Glozelle claimed calmly - daren’t risk anyone with her safety. Not a Telmarine, no matter if it had been his very mother, nor a Narnian, not even Trumpkin, as it wasn’t just the Telmarines balking at reunification and change. After a full coronation, Glozelle had warned her that there would be spats of trouble, no matter what, it would take a few years, and even then, precautions would always have to be taken during the current generation. Again, but for once from someone other than Caspian, the phrase uttered was ‘Telmarines are not known for kindness...nor tolerance.’ _ _

__All Susan had sought to find out, was if Caspian’s nervous mania was worse now than it used to be. She’d gained that answer and more. So, yes, Caspian’s was worse, and more than just her lover felt it was absolutely proper wariness, a paranoia that was deemed _wise_. And yet there was still so much to do, to tend, to focus on, that even as upsetting as the information that Caspian had good cause (at least according to a Telmarine) to be extra wary, it was too time consuming to dither and waste extra on it all. _ _

__However, unbeknownst to Caspian as he lay there struggling with the results of lunch’s toxic additive, Susan had a good sized vial of water that held a drop of Lucy’s cordial. Much diluted, its restorative powers would only work miraculously if downed all at once. She refused to let him suffer unduly, no matter what he said, and besides, she’d taken to keeping the healing draught on hand inside a deep pocket of her skirts after her talk with Glozelle. Susan’s original intention in making it, was that a sip would buy time for herself or many if something happened, or if it were truly dire, a single person. Because while Susan believed firmly that Caspian was pushing too far on his cautiousness, she also was perfectly willing to take a few extra steps herself to be self protective. It was only prudent._ _

__Beside and behind her station on the side of the bed, Caspian rolled over, groaning, “As soon as the perpetrator is apprehended, they will be flayed, and their head - or heads - are going on a pike.”_ _

__Susan shook her head, sighing as she rose to check the kettle she’d put to boil Caspian up water for a tisane (one that would receive some of the diluted cordial), trying to repress a smile, “If you’d just have taken some cordial... But it’s good that your spirits are high enough to jest.” _No matter how utterly black that humour is...__ _

__Sweat soaked jerkin, tunic and undershirt made soden plopping noises due to the sheer amount of pore-bled poison he’d so suddenly produced as he grunted noncommittally, levering himself to sit up. “It is no jest, lady. Short of an act of Aslan, the treasonous dog, or dogs, who dared such mischief, is going to pay dearly. Publically. And if not decorating a pike, then a skull for an ashtray or quill holder will do.” Susan had to blink a few times as she realized he was entirely serious, for even though she could see he was clearly in agony, Caspian’s visage was as calm and cold as stone. “Two kings would be dead this day if not for a priceless, finite, magical potion. That is treason of the highest degree, my Susan. A third king is considered declawed presently, insensate, guarded only by what many would see as a mere pretty woman given a title as queen by brothers to keep her happy. A queen would also be dead but for the grace of a potion if we did not take such precautions as I have insisted upon and you chafe over. No, Susan - the traitors will be slain, that is how it must be. For even if Aslan were to intercede, mercy when so fresh and deemed untested as I am, or how yourself and siblings appear to outsiders, would only invite a great deal more danger. And that I will _not_ allow. Nor will your brothers, no matter how they feel about second chances, grace, or how you feel about gentleness, lady love.”_ _

__“Here,” Susan said, resuming her seat, opting to not press any sort of issue when Caspian’s faculties were so compromised (even if she knew, logically, he was likely right), and held the cup of steaming medicinal and doctored tea up for him, “drink this. It should at least help with the cramping, maybe even the headache.”_ _

__Large, calloused, gentle hands, marred by clay feeling claminess, covered both of hers around the cup, the coldness of his expression softening back to the man Susan had become aware she loved far too much for anyone’s sanity probably. “Aye. It can be hoped for, but if it cannot deliver that, my body requires more liquids, so it can restore that which is just as vital.” His dark gaze didn’t leave her face until the cup was emptied, then, lids fluttering closed, Caspian leaned in, sighing as his face went straight to what she was certain was one of his favourite places - her chest. “Other than when Glozelle first was raising my resistance to toxins, no one has been with me for this part.” Hot breath that belied the chill of the broad torso she wrapped her arms around, fell upon the top of her bosom, or at least what bit of soft flesh was revealed by the neckline of her dress. “I do not like that you must take care of me so much, Susan. It is careless of me to be brought low with such frequency, for if you are always forced to tend me because I have somehow managed to be taken unawares, then how can you depend upon me to share your burdens? You are always taking on mine, it is unjust,” tired, but that tone of fatigue was just a mask over what she really heard and what he was actually saying... That tone, that ‘tired admission’ was his go to method to reveal shame when it wasn’t in the pitch dark, clutching her for dear life, and whispering what Caspian so clearly perceived as dire failings on his part. His way to reveal, admit, in the light, still required some sort of buffer, otherwise Susan wasn’t sure if he would be able to maintain any composure._ _

__Susan meant to say something comforting, instead, “We can’t keep on like this Caspian. It’s untenable - for everyone.”_ _

__In her arms, Caspian froze, not even a breath, a rabbit gone still on a beach, hoping to not be spied by the owl in the branches. A word, like a dart to a burrow that may grant safety, or, clarity, “Pardon?”_ _

__“This place, Caspian. It’s _terrible_ ,” she squeezed him close, but took care not to squish him, as she knew that if he wound up voiding his stomach on her, that it would start a chain reaction, setting her off. “This castle, this town. It’s terrible. You’ve an _escape door_ inside your bloody armoire, Caspian. Double-bolted on our side, too, because someone may remember it’s how you escaped becoming a pincushion. And we can’t have anyone sneaking up here, oh no, but we also don’t want to seal it off either - what if we’ve got to escape again? It’s dark, it’s ugly, dreary, it terrifies you, you watch every corner, squinting into shadows, your whole family’s died here except your stupid uncle, pox on his bottom anyway. There’s corridor after corridor, hidey hole and murder routes, and servants routes which, alright, I understand needing a servants’ pass, but still...just... It’s made only to be comfortable for humans so the Narnians are uncomfortable...and...and...” Susan growled into Caspian’s soft hair, “It’s just not fit for anyone. Too many despicable memories, too much implication of bad blood, danger - and there’s no way it’s a fit place to raise children properly.”_ _

__Tension seeped immediately away as it registered she wasn’t rejecting him, and dark eyes peeped up at her quizzically beneath the sweaty brow, “Susan, it is not meant to be a good or nice place. It is a war machine, meant to grind anyone fool enough to attack, into naught but fertilizer for some farmer’s fields, or food for crows and flies. Its elegance is one of brutality and efficient death, like a war hammer, spear, or sword, meant only to be lovely for the expert wielder, or those appreciative of economical decimation of enemies. Nothing more. It is a seat of power, but mostly, it is what it is - a weapon. The most dangerous one in the whole kingdom, and so must be possessed by the rulers of the nation, ‘else it may fall into enemy hands.”_ _

__Raising a brow, “And just _who_ would have wits so addled that attacking Narnia would seem a wise idea, presently?”_ _

__“Archenland, Calormen, old Telmar which is not really so far as all that,” came the list, rapid and delivered with a shrug. “If I were another nation, one who had dealt with regularly being antagonized by a suddenly civil war weakened nation, that had a handful of children - some who _claimed_ to be ancient heroes returned in a fantastical hour of need - I can assure you, that I would have been sending over small bands of soldiers, ready to consolidate and launch a real attack as soon as the little brats made a mistake, annex as much territory as possible, slay leaders and force marriages to bind and insure that they are good and cowed, further dig in, build up, then expand some more whenever I felt like it.”_ _

__“That’s positively awful Caspian,” Susan’s nose wrinkled up._ _

__“And did Narnia not fight _many_ border wars of defense? Ones provoked because such and so was agitated over some perceived slight or another?” and those perfect brows were rising high on his forehead. “Of course there was a possible prize, or bribe, of your hand once upon a time. Yet if it had been given, or if you took someone from this or that place, as a consort, or even a sort of...lower union that was nontransferable to your partner - then everyone else who did not get a piece of you, would attack to satisfy their honour at being dealt such insult. Correct?”_ _

__Susan rolled her eyes, reaching for the washbasin bowl, which had, earlier, been the very first thing she grabbed (Caspian, after his inspection of the room, had grabbed the chamberpot to empty his protesting stomach, otherwise she would have nabbed it for him), and began to wipe away some of the sticky perspiration from his face. “That is how I described it, I know, I know. Must you really retain and absorb everything I say, Caspian?” it wasn’t a complaint, but it took a moment for Caspian to realize she was teasing him, as his face was doing one of those endearing dances of back and forth thinking it did when they were alone and he was confronted with something outside his experience._ _

__...It had happened increasingly less at the How or in camp as he relaxed. Now, Caspian had returned to a state where everything must be examined, and it was as though he’d forgotten all the good things he had picked up and learned. Susan felt a wave of upset that quickly triggered her almost daily headache at the realization that Caspian had felt safer, happier, and more at peace, when the world was going to hell in a handbasket, and death was imminent - because out there, he really was safer. While at Castle Telmar...for all its walls, its ability to slaughter attackers and defend from outside what was stored within those walls - the dangers were insidious, ever present, inescapable, and Caspian had decided to revert to old patterns. _He sees enemies within, enemies without. This can’t continue, it’ll destroy him.__ _

__“It was easier out there, wasn’t it?” she asked rhetorically, her ability to enjoy the contortions of facial muscles and cogs of thought turning rapidly, having vanished._ _

__The leap of subject, the tone change, threw Caspian, who had a bit more of his proper colour due to the tisane and watered down cordial, but still looked as though he felt he’d become a log of wet muck. “What was?” Lips parting, gaze gone searching after having been turned inwards, with the frightful speed of always being on guard, “Being together?”_ _

__“What? No,” Susan shook her head vehemently. “You, it was easier for you out there, to be yourself, and not so...so...” The washcloth was rung out and strangled in her hands with frustration, “You were able to just sort of accept that sometimes things are good, life is pleasant, and that you don’t have to be vigilant to the point of shattering, that not everything another person says must be examined, weighed, measured and gauged for any possible message. Here - just, just tear this damnable castle down, rip it apart, because it’s killing you, and that is... I won’t allow it.”_ _

__“Defensible castles in central locations are not easy to come by, lady,” it should have been funny, but no matter the amused, rueful quirk of lips, Susan saw through it all to the constant worry that devoured him these days, for no matter that he was watching her as he always did, even in the cramped room, his eyes skittered about looking for danger in measured sweeps at intervals that she could tell time by they were so regular. “As soon as I find one, a better one is built, or you inform me of some hidden one that can be magicked up swiftly, I will surely honour your every suggestion on taking leave of this place, you have my absolute word as the man who loves you that it will be so.”_ _

___Oh, Aslan, I daren’t tell him, not yet. If he’s unexploded ordinance sitting in the back yard now, he’d turn into one of those doomsday devices the Nazis and Americans are trying to come up with, if he knew - and he wouldn’t be **ready** to go off, he’d just do so, without so much as a by your leave,_ the thought making her shudder._ _

__Caspian looked around the fairly small space, as though he were trying to see it from someone new’s perspective rather than his own lifetime perception. Cautiously, “There are much nicer quarters in the castle though, Susan. My mother’s have been locked and untouched since her death. It would have to be thoroughly inspected and then it could be made anew? Something better to please?” The suggestion seemed to cost him, as well as the rest of the information, “My quarters have remain unchanged since Mother chose these for me. There were better appointed ones, even for a second surviving son, but she seemed to think these were the most secure or would afford me the best chance of survival, it seems. The same cannot be said for hers.”_ _

__“I’m afraid to ask but, how did she...?”_ _

__Jaw firming, “I was told it was a riding accident. In light of the information on my father’s own demise, I am less certain of that these days.” Nostrils flaring then pinching down, “But she always smelled of books and horses. Always. So it really, truly could just be an accident, or one that was...encouraged. _Or_ she could have been killed elsewhere then posed to look like a riding accident, _or_ that entire bit with horses could have been a lie, and I, the Council and the public, were told one thing with only Miraz aware one way or another. With his death, I will have no answers.” Shrugging, dismissing it as was his wont when it was something he couldn’t change as there already existed too many burdens to take on such fruitless ones he was helpless to change, “If he were alive, even then, any answers he gave would be suspect. So-” long fingers found her chin, caressing her face, and Susan couldn’t help but press herself into even that small touch, “- when the traitors are apprehended, I will go over Mother’s old quarters with Reepicheep and Trufflehunter to see what secret dangers it may hold, then have it changed to fit your preferences. I...I do not wish for you to feel prisoner to me.” _ _

__That was just it. She wasn’t a prisoner of him or anyone else - it was _Caspian_ who was the prisoner. To the blood, lurking, waiting, stalking, predatory death of the castle that sought out anything remotely good or precious to him, or that he even sort of _liked_ , so that it could be wrenched from him and obliterated after making him watch the suffering like a macabre play. _ _

__“Caspian,” finally moving to at least get ready for bed, since doing anything else wasn’t feasible, “while it can be a bit stifling or feeling as though you seek to control me for some things that I’m perfectly used to doing for myself or accepting as safe, it’s all far too understandable. For pity’s sake, I almost lost you, Edmund and Peter in one fell swoop, you’re right, I know that! Good reason or bad reason, it’s not important after a point. In truth, I don’t think you will ever be capable of making yourself confident enough to be comfortable that I am safe here, that you’ve used so much of your focus and then still feel it’s not enough to counter what you’ve grown up feeling and fearing in these walls -”_ _

__He never yelled, but it was probably the closest Susan had heard him direct at her - and it was still rather soft, but it contained fear that bred to frustration that had exploded into rage, “Just _what_ would you have me do, Susan? I cannot erase any of it, it is done, there is no change to be had. Yes, yes you are correct, this place is painted in every dark terror and pain I have lived through. It is to the very chair at my desk where I read what missives I must go over privately, that Miraz would strap me to, then lay his lashes into me - the ones _not_ on my back. It is in this bed that I had been sleeping on a rare peaceful night, that Cornelius came to me, woke me, and sought to drag me down to the stables - but stubborn fool that I am, I resisted, and stayed long enough to see one of the few people I ever considered a friend, order a score of crossbow bolts into this place where I lay my head and keep watch as best I can when yours is there. It was the footlocker there -” a jerking nod to the carved wooden chest at the foot of the large bed, “- that I found Ylaya. _After_ she had been dead for an hour or two, stuffed into the box like an inglorious coffin to rot and foul my things, a folded up garment easily replaced and discarded to those who would control me.” Hand waving vaguely, “Down the hall, where Peter sleeps, Javier died bleeding and screaming as the acids and poison dissolved and ate at him, it only quieted when his thrashing triggered a trap mechanism in his bed. Lady, just _what_ would you have me do? You say tear the place down, move elsewhere, yet to do so without an equally secure, central, defensible, and visually impressive location to inhabit, to abandon this one or destroy it, only invites danger from not just within, but _outside_. At least _here_ the only enemies that must be watched for, are supposed to be allies, who are presently as weakened as we are. Outside, there are enemies on all sides, who have no issue or reason to hold back, and cannot be fended off without such a defense as this cruel, hideous, and bloodstained oubliette that is representative of every sin and hate that Telmarine can mete out to another!” Softer, “What would you have me do? Tell me, Susan, please, I beg you. This is not a place I wish to be, but it is the safest place I can provide for you and your family that is in a place that will allow us to take care of our peoples.” Voice shaking, “Would you have me walk away from all this that we did, run to the ends of this earth, or to the place of Spar Oom and War Drobe with you? Ask it of me, and it will be done. Leave Peter his crown as he longs after it the way I long for your touch, he is hard enough to handle this nightmare, and it only holds a single terror for him anyway. Let him muscle the Telmarines into a mould he deems fit, they are wary and afraid of him in the first place as a mythic unknown, while I am ‘naught but the little battered orphan who has no spine of his own to rely upon. A skittering and terrified mouse of no import.”_ _

__Susan rested her head against the armoire that hid Caspian’s escape route. Cornelius, himself, herself, a very few Narnians, and Glozelle, were the only ones alive who knew of its existence - all others had died in the civil war. _Or just after,_ Susan clenched her eyes closed trying to come up with something, anything to answer what he’d said. And if she thought she had been sickened by so many of the things Caspian’s world had contained before, to hear _this_ , these details, to know he had spared her those details before, and she knew, _knew_ even now he was keeping many others from her to spare her the empathic anguish she felt for him... Oh, oh she felt sick, so very sick, down to her toes, her soul, nothing could make it better until they could escape - because this place, that bed, linens and curtains long since replaced, clothes-chest scrubbed clean, trousers long since pulled up to cover a little boy’s legs, rump and genitals grown to a man’s, so that only the faintest evidence remained of long ago abuses snapped with a narrow branch - was his personal hell. And he brought her there, forced his eyes to close, because its every nook and cranny wasn’t just known, but it had something few of the other places did: A way for him to haul her to safety if it came to it. How could he sleep? How? _ _

__...He could sleep because he had to, and in the surety that a slim chance of escape was better than the odds he had calculated existing elsewhere._ _

__Susan the Gentle had all kinds of answers for everything, but she wasn’t being bloody useful at the moment, she decided. Could she blame it on the stress of confinement, queasy fluttery masses of proteins in her womb, and fear over watching Caspian slowly self-destruct? No, those were excuses, and even if Queen Susan didn’t have anything worthwhile to add, Susan Pevensie would figure something out, even if it was just a way to get a smile, a genuine one, that led to him forgetting for a moment. Because if he could let go and forget for a time, maybe she could as well._ _

___To think that the raid’s failure was what broke me down, oh Aslan, no wonder he tries so hard to shelter me - it was just business as usual for him except it involving many others rather than just one or two. Still, something he’s come to expect from existence, pick up, carry on, and try to keep the others around you going as long as possible. The world is ugly, don’t hope for more, protect your flank, front, back, and don’t dare be surprised by that ugliness..._ _ _

___C’mon, Sue, time to put on your big girl knickers and do something._ Taking a deep breath, “I don’t know, Caspian. All I know is that everyone here deserves the safety and security of being confident that they can count upon basic protections, rights, and that their lives, or the lives of their loved ones, aren’t in jeopardy because someone wants to play high stakes chess with people. That a child can grow into an adult, and rely upon friends, family, not have to fear siblings. But mostly, Caspian,” her fingers tracing the grooves of the armoire, wishing they were his face, but she feared for the moment he may not actually want her touch, “I want you to feel safe and happy, aware that what you went through won’t be something any other person will have to suffer. That you’re important for the man you are inside, not for a bloodline and title.”_ _

__“Between the five of us, I am nothing beyond a link to an invading race, Susan. A tether to them to grant them some continuity, to translate a bit between the two groups, and it is due solely to my bloodline and title, Susan,” movement, the smell of a fresh pouch of tea being set to steep, and he probably shouldn’t be up and around, but sometimes a man just had to do as he would do, otherwise they got truly mulish. And Caspian was one of the worst, for reasons of survival, certainly, it didn’t change the fact that when he wanted to be stubborn, he was immovable. “That is not so different from how it would be, even without yourselves involved, the king I would be alone, is nothing more than a translator, a large stick to browbeat the difficult, a sword to decapitate the criminal, and someone to blame when everything goes wrong, forgotten when all goes well, and be certain to secure a few heirs so that the people do not have to do those things for themselves. A shepherd with only a few token powers.”_ _

__“What happened to being the captain of a ship?” Susan finally turned because his hands had come to press against the wood above her head, palms flat, and while she could catch the bitterly sour pong of whatever poison his body was busily processing, underneath, he was, as always, himself, and that scent was one that could make it so that all she wished to do was lean in and forget the world and life that was outside that embrace. “Seeking a way through the dangerous waters and storms, in spite of resistance and distraction?”_ _

__“It turns out that the distractions were pirates who were better capable of making the crew listen, so my status has been downgraded to a bosun perhaps, even as I stare towards the light only I appear to see, while most seem to think it is, in the end, none of my concern,” there was no animosity or bitterness over the fact that he felt as though he had been so thoroughly sidelined, where barely more than a season or two ago, he had been silently livid. “So, instead, overglorified shepherd, bodyguard and food taster to the one true brightness that is in my world. Peter and Edmund could likely argue that, as they are experienced and older than I, that they are overseeing a finishing to my education on being a king. A temporary outside regency on their part to be sure that the foreign brigand’s many times great grandson can be trusted to not make a complete fool of himself or lead the kingdom to ruin, and at least be imposing enough so that other nations do not take the idea that once a timeless beauty had been a carrot to behave, but now could make a much more easily gained prize.” Muscles tensed and relaxed without rhyme or reason in very visible waves, the spasms light in the areas he had no control over the poison’s effects, but the stronger spasms were him exerting his will over those random flexes elsewhere. “‘Do not look at the Archer Queen, if she does not feather you, her rabid Telmarine may take your arm off and feed it to you, use you for live study vivisection, who knows? He is Telmarine after all.’” Susan began to scoff, then Caspian’s forehead came to rest against hers as he shook his head, “They would be lucky if that was all I did. While I do not revel in violence, I am perfectly happy to devise the most terrifying way to make a potential threat decide risking what will happen is not worth it. A smaller sacrifice that incites terror does much more than a protective army on a border sometimes. And yes, that does include extremely inventive and ugly acts that you would be ashamed to think me willing to commit with my own hands. Leaders do not have to be good people, Susan, they only must be effective at protecting the populace from within and without. So....” She couldn’t help it, she needed to touch him and under her fingers his skin was hot and cold depending on section in odd blotchy, spilled liquid sorts of shapes, as he expounded on his observations. “If your siblings believe me in need of more time and education, while keeping me tractable, which also results in keeping the dangers of a people they do not understand, in a world that is not quite like they remember, away from what I personally hold dearest above even my people and duty, then I will learn, observe, and protect, until it is time for me to prove I am capable. Then there will have to be a reshuffling of the structure, and perhaps I may be allowed to be a good king, and the world can remember that you are no mere bauble, nor toothless. It is alright, let them believe we truly are no threat while we quietly go about our actual business.” A nuzzle rather than a kiss, voice gone very soft, a secret between them, “But you are still the lighthouse, showing the way, and so I shall keep you in my gaze and stay as close as I may.”_ _

__Susan whispered against his lips, “I don’t need a keeper, Caspian, a minder, a bodyguard, I only need a partner, friend, equal, who -”_ _

__“The lighthouse must be tended so that she may shine, guide, protect all those lost in the dark, she requires fuel to burn, her form to be kept safe against the frequently harsh elements she is exposed to, she is not able to be true to her nature without the surety of her keeper,” Susan’s whispered protest was countered deftly. “That it is a lost man who found his way to shore, safety, due to her light when he believed all was at an end, and instead he finds shelter, purpose, and contentment in that role - both gain equally, my Susan. They are partners, even if that lost man seems so insignificant by comparison. They are equal and safe because they serve one another. Some other time I can sail the nation of our peoples on the tides of time and fate with you as the light. It is not today, and not tomorrow. Today, I am a sick man who has been addled, and made to realize how much he has been a buffoon who imprisoned you, jealous of risking anyone else close to you. This is not how a man courts a woman, and I know better, it is only that I am selfish and a coward, my lady love. It is no excuse.”_ _

__Part of Susan, who, once upon a time found that most things prior suitors believed she was supposed to want but actually didn’t, was doing that annoying contradiction thing. The thing where Caspian was the lone exception who got to make claims upon her, ones she echoed to him, putting her own mark on Caspian. Or where he was the lone male whom she wasn’t related to, whom could dare dictate something to her, or where she was the only one who could ask him to do almost anything conceivable and he would almost always do it... The mutual exception to all rules. And it was such a contrary, aggravating thing, or so she supposed. So, being _courted_ \- as to whichever rules he probably found to be proper (and likely would be willing to work out with herself, but also expect her siblings to add their two pence) - actually sounded really rather quite pleasant. _Susan, you are in a great deal of trouble. But there’s nowhere I’d rather be, is there? Well, other than out of this ghoulish Castle Dracula and in something better for everyone, especially him._ _ _

__Still, she couldn’t just go and accept his assertion without at least a little bit of fight, “Oh? We’re courting now is it?”_ _

__“Aye, are you not the one who said your brothers had no say in such? When they are in their cups, I will inform them in the shape of a request, and, suggestable as they would likely be, you only have to tell them it is a good idea and here, your goblet is empty, let me refill that for you - and they will nod agreeably, so all matters of honour on such fronts are tended, at least lip service to Telmarine requirements on that,” he was sounding stronger, and she hoped he was opting to reach for the good things in spite of the bad of the late afternoon and their disagreement. It was just best to call it an early day. “But Mother’s quarters, they must be seen to, put to rights for you, and that will be my courting gift to you.”_ _

__“I see you’ve got it all sorted and planned out, Caspian,” fingers slowly walking up to his shoulders, along his neck and to his hair, which gained the always immediate response of a soft, relieved, pleased, sigh. “But is there room in these quarters for you? Or will you have gone off on all the frills and lace that Peter will probably tell you I favour - which I don’t, he’s being a prat, and Ed may or may not be helpful, it depends on how much he wants to prank someone that day - and stay far away from where I like you best? To clarify - that’s anywhere I can easily get to, as I think I’ve gotten rather in a pickle, as waking up without you sounds like such a detestable prospect, that I think I’ll pass, no matter how fine the proposed rooms are.”_ _

__A bad prospect for many reasons, but it was true, waking without Caspian was probably close to impossible. Or if she did, and hadn’t been worried about a rebellious body and belly, then waking without him would result in a very unkind Susan Pevensie nitpicking everyone, turning to overbearing mother to one and all, so that they could suffer as much as she would. Serve them, and herself, right to be so unpleasant, it would teach all of them a lesson - yes, Susan included herself in that learning of said lesson. Chiefly, that even if they must rush for whatever reason, waking with Caspian set her mood towards positive more than any singular other thing she had ever come across. And considering that Susan was the Pevensie most well known at Cair Paravel as ‘do not wake before brunch if you value your hide unless it is an emergency and you come bearing a great deal of chocolate and tea’, that was saying something. To be remotely human and pleasant before nine was an unnatural, unconscionable sin, and it didn’t matter that in London, school required her being awake and present, it didn’t require her to be happy, cordial, or pleasant, so mornings could get stuffed...except mornings with Caspian which could happen happily any time for the next however long possible. Like, say, eternity._ _

__A soft grunt, “Typically a courting couple may find some trysts and time for more intimate acts, but a woman’s quarters are sacrosanct to all except immediate relatives, and her husband. And if a woman is courting...she is not married, ergo...the suitor should make great shows of going no further than her sitting area, and if he does travel farther to the bed, then he should be most discreet in his earliest morning exit possible, so that others do not think him taking too many liberties.”_ _

__“Caspian, I’ve been in your quarters for months now, it’s a bit late, don’t you think?” archly._ _

__“Gossips say only that we are lovers which is a very different thing, and that I am a most viciously jealous one -”_ _

__“ _Are_ you the jealous type, Caspian?” giving his hair a playful tug._ _

__“Nay, but it keeps Telmarine men in their place. Their eyes may travel but their acts, hands, words, and attention, do not accost you,” a sniff and shrug. “Let them think that I have backbone at least when it concerns what is between my legs or yours. An ugly, obsessive, and nasty sort, it will make them wonder later on at what else they were wrong about, but for the interim, only wonder at how I grew a pair big enough to be so bold when it comes to you, your person, and safety...and figure that it is best to not poke or prod where they do not belong anyway. Let the snarling dog remain in his spot gnawing his juicy bone, do not make him rise, for he will clearly bite. Their imaginations will focus upon this for a long time, it is curious and divergent from all they have known of me in the past. Clearly, they will say you are definitely some sort of wonderfully wicked temptress to cause the quiet, useless, bookish prince to lash about so, but that as soon as you bore of me, or vice versa, all verve will flow away to nothing. A curiosity to entertain and make sport of, nothing more.”_ _

__“I don’t like that, Caspian, speaking of yourself like you’re just a...a...cock-ruled imbecile without a clue in your head beyond what to read or where to stick it,” Susan grumbled._ _

__“Protective colouring, lady, it is only a bird with feathers puffed up to appear larger, a glittering spun sugar brightly coloured snake, a kind that bears patterns similar but different from one that is poisonous...but is, in truth, just a pretty garden snake that has dodged and fooled another predator.”_ _

__“It’s still a terrible thing to say, what if you start believing it’s true?” Except they both knew he believed far too much of that utter bollocks. (He would claim it’s actual truth, while she would counter repeatedly, that it was only the noise of the gutless being repeated by a wounded man who was vastly more than he believed. Of course, Caspian would acquiesce, but Susan was certain it was only because he liked to think she felt and truly thought all that of him, not because he agreed.) “It’s all well and good for the wolf to wear a sheep’s skin, but when he forgets that he’s the wolf, and begins to eat grass, he only gets a bad belly and does himself no good. So...it’s a terrible thing to say, and too much of it’s been said tonight, and we talk too much sometimes, when, instead, we could be in -”_ _

__Susan found herself hoisted up against the armoire, her skirts hiked, and broad hands under her bottom, “Or I could be within you? A bed is pleasant, but this... Be gentle, lady, I am not all there you know, presently I am a most unwell man, and the only cure for the shakes I feel, the weakness of mind, is a brush with a small death to chase it from me.”_ _

__Laughing at how swiftly bad or maudlin could turn to playful and good, Susan wrapped her arms around him quickly in a hug, before reaching down between them, freeing his manhood. Between words, she kissed him, “Talk.Too.Much.Makes.Head.Funny.Caspian. Beguiler.”_ _

__“So sayeth the woman of a magical horn, who is born of another world,” low chuckles, which were suddenly cut off in the best way possible, and they forgot for a time._ _


End file.
